Fin De Siècle
by Zergface
Summary: Who were we to believe everything would turn out alright? The Invasion of Earth. Complete- book one.
1. Chapter 1

**Quick foreword:**

 **I'm not in the military, but I do my best to portray real-world communication and more in an valiant attempt to be more-or less realistic in that regard. **

**Since there's nothing in the way of smut it's not rated M.**

 **I'm trying to make this story as original as possible. Of course, I might hit a cliche here or there but hey, it happens, right? **

**I also hope to invoke thought and some feels. Despite the war setting, action won't be rampant. **

**And lastly, please review! Each one tells me if I'm hitting my audience where it hurts. Or where it's good. So yes, reviewing is massively appreciated.**

* * *

 _ **Fin de siècle**_ _is French for "_ _ **end of the century**_ " _, a term which typically encompasses both the meaning of the similar English idiom turn of the century and also makes reference to_ _ **the closing of one era and onset of another.**_

* * *

I'm told I'm an optimistic person. At least, on the surface. And sure, the surface is what we make ourselves to be so I guess I can settle for being an optimistic person.

It's been an exhausting seven days. Seven days since the end of the year two-thousand and sixteen. The new year came and went in a flash to me. I attended no parties and kept to myself during the holiday season. Not really a big fan of Christmas. Sure, the cheerfulness of the good ol' holiday spirit is not necessarily something I _hate_ , don't get me wrong. I love getting under the blankets with a steaming mug of hot cocoa, maybe in front of the TV with Netflix switched on. It's just that my school always loads us with a massive dump of homework during the break making it impossible to relax. I'm sure you can relate.

Today is the first Saturday after the first week of school. It's seven in the morning, and the faint glow of the rising sun streamed through the windows of my small, cozy room. I got a poster of the Flying Spaghetti Monster next to a map of Eastern Massachusetts on the wall by the doorway, greeting me in a ray of light as I pried my eyes open. Gotta love that deity. Still groggy from staying up late the night before, I flopped out of bed. Throwing on some warm clothes and a thin blue coat along with my favorite pair of socks, I strolled downstairs to the kitchen. Right now it's quite chilly in the house, but I decided against making coffee or any other heated beverage. I'm not in the mood for any sort of strong taste in the wee hours of the morning.

Eventually my mother would wake up, but I figure she could use the extra rest. She passed the black hair gene down to me, along with my brown eyes. I never got to meet my father because he died before I was born, but pictures of him make him out to have light brown hair and blue eyes. Not that that matters, but it's always nice to know.

After preparing and subsequently consuming a bowl of cereal, I suddenly realized I had nothing to do. We just did a whole bunch of tests earlier in the week, so I didn't have any homework and there's nothing to do around the house. Nothing better to do, instead of studying, than to participate in some quality entertainment!

Rather than hopping on the computer and playing a game like I usually would, (it was a tough decision) I decided to go out and get some fresh air. Maybe even ring up some friends later, get a bite to eat, I dunno. It's seven in the morning and I'm completely free! That's right folks, it's time for a change in routine!

* * *

Well shit. I'm now sitting on a bench in the town park, listening to the beautiful sounds of suburban traffic. The park is spacious with a wide grassy field, but in the corner there's a playground for the kids with a wicked tall metal slide. As a wee lad I would always try and get a running start before launching myself down it. You'd go really damn fast and fly right off the end of the slide, landing in a bunch of old woodchips. I can't say I had a bad childhood. Not with such an awesome slide like that.

You know what? Screw societal norms. I wanna go down the damn slide!

Hopping off the bench, I jog to the stairs, jumping up two steps at a time with a wild grin plastered on my face. Once at the top of my throne, I gaze across the land, surveying the winter wonderland in awe. All the trees have lost their leaves, and the buildings of the town sprawl out behind me like a suburban jungle. In front of me, a great distance away, lies a frozen pond with some geese still loafing about. It had snowed recently, but just a tad, leaving stale patches of snow here and there across the field. This playground structure is a hella lot smaller than I had last remembered it, and I might have to squeeze through just to make it out the other side of the slide.

I kneel down and lower myself onto my tush. The playground is frozen to the touch, and since I didn't bring gloves I fold the ends of my sleeves over my hands as an added layer of protection from the cold.

I lean over the edge of the slide and lower my head to look down towards the ground. Oh man, it's… Really not as distant as I remember it to be. I look back up and quickly scan the cracking sidewalk beside the street. I hope no one sees me here, but there's no backing out now. I inch ever closer to my center of gravity, my legs dangling down the slide's dented surface. I place my hands behind my back on the ground, ready to push off at a moment's notice. I take a deep breath and exhale, a thin cloud of fog streaming from my mouth. Here goes nothing…

"Hey, what do you think you're up to?"

A voice behind me pierces the dull din of nature.

"Wha!" Startled, I fumble forward, slipping and sliding away from the point of no return. I tilt too far to the left and fall off the slope at a high speed, slamming right into the ground.

"What the hell was that for, Owen?" I painfully flip myself onto my back, irritated.

I look up to the top of the slide, and there he is, laughing heartily at my peril. He dusts off his green jacket and beams at me.

"You think I could resist such an opportunity, Nate? You're insane if you think you can get away with such a childish act in a town with _me_ in it." Owen smirks, satisfied with himself as he calls me by my nickname.

"Oh shut up," I wave him off. "Why are you here anyway?" I clamber up to my feet and place my hands on my hips, panting slightly.

"I was just on my way to Dunkin Donuts but when I saw you runnin up those steps I made a small detour. You know how it is, don't you?" He replies as he slides down, never diverting his gaze from mine as if he were taunting me.

I smile and walk to his side as he rises.

I jab him on the shoulder playfully. "If you're going to get something, you'd better compensate me for my troubles. That hurt, you know!"

"Hey now," He raises his arms in surrender. "It ain't that big of a deal, man. If you're asking for food I'll certainly oblige, but if you think that getting spooked off the slide is worth compensation… I'd think twice."

He's got a very valid point. Instead of dragging myself down further, I'll just go with it. He's offering me food! Accepting defeat is the least I can do.

We make our jolly way to the sidewalk and head downtown to the doughnut place. Owen and I share many of the same interests and have decently similar personalities, however what really sets us apart is how vocal and irrational Owen can get. He's not afraid to voice his opinions and speaks louder than most of the people I know. Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing, I have yet to know. He can be really open to me, it's almost like I've known him forever.

The winter sun was getting obstructed by grey clouds as they crowded together across the wide expanse above my head, shedding their frozen white flakes which fluttered to the ground beside my feet. We had just crossed the street as wind picked up, sending the falling snow into a frenzy. The nearly empty parking lot for the pastry eatery on our right was spotted in puddles of ice, catching the snowfall dead in it's tracks. The doughnut shop was on at a four-way intersection, usually busy but on a Saturday morning the amount of traffic was at a welcome minimum.

I dashed ahead to grasp the door handle and yanked on it, swinging it wide open as Owen sauntered inside with a word of thanks. The warmth of the facility was more than welcome, and I didn't hesitate at all in my entrance. The scent of oil and greasy products filled the air, and the dim hum of sports television captivated my ears. A safe feeling, a sense of home.

It still hasn't reached eight in the morning yet, and the place was completely empty. The two employees, a man and young woman, looked bored and sleepy, yet established a wary eye on us as we entered. Owen said he'd get me a doughnut on our way here, so I strayed from the line and took a seat at the window lining the corner facing the intersection. While he was ordering, I cast my serene gaze outside at the light snowfall. A few cars passed by here and there along with a big white truck. I love the tranquility of the morning, the atmosphere is calming and invokes deep thought.

As my friend was wrapping up the transaction the traffic light dangling over the middle of the intersection turned red, causing two or three cars to halt on each side of the road. All of a sudden, the traffic light started to crackle and fizzle before exploding in a shower of sparks. _What the hell?_ That was uncalled for. And here I thought our streets were well maintained. An impatient driver sped ahead, ignoring compliance and order. Some other drivers honked at him, but weren't upset enough to drive off. Then, in a flash of bright light, a little light blue gumdrop just kinda appeared beneath the traffic light. It looked to be as tall as a tire and a foot wide and strangely enough, it had a face. Two lifeless black eyes and a pale snout. A young man stepped outside of his car and cautiously approached the strange creature. Several other people exited their vehicles out of curiosity. I leaned in towards the window as he got within five feet. I'm not sure what caused it, but a bizarre bubble of energy emitted sharply from above the blue creature, engulfing everything around it, including the restaurant where I sat. All the electronics suddenly and inexplicably shut down, leaving us in the dark. The headlights on each of the cars also died, along with the lights from the buildings as far as I could see. Owen was walking over to a seat across from me as this happened, startling him as to make him drop the brown bags of doughnuts.

"Holy shit! What the ass-cheese?" Owen cried out in fear, recoiling from the wave of energy. I too felt a jolt as the wave passed through me, but I just flinched.

The blue gumdrop looked up at the man before jumping right onto his chest, slamming him to the ground. He cried out in pain horribly as though he were being eaten alive, waving his arms and legs in all different directions. The blue blob held a face of pure glee as it finished with it's victim. Once the man stopped moving, it bounced towards another person who left their car.

 **Bounce, bounce, bounce!**

A woman was it's next target, and she dropped her phone- which had died moments earlier- and started running for her life, screaming. Like one of those jockeys from Left for Dead, it landed on her head, choking her as she fell to the ground out of sight. More of the blobs came out of nowhere, under cars and from around the corner, finding targets and killing them.

I knocked over a chair as I jumped back in surprise as a man ran into the window with a blob on his leg. There was nothing I could do. The man slapped the glass and yelled for help, and I could see the blob eating away at his body, like the creature's body were that of a very potent acid.

"Oh shit dude, what the hell is this!?" I yell in alarm.

"I- I- I-" Owen stutters in shock. "Fuck!"

I turn around to see the employees frozen in fear, faces in absolute terror. When I look back a loud thump erupts as a blue blob rams the window, it's face flattened against the glass. Another blob jumps into the glass as well, and more and more pile up against it. The window begins to crack as we begin to panic.

"What do we do?" The young woman cries as she presses herself against the wall while the man ducks behind the counter.

"Ah…" I'm at a lost for words. This is insane. What the hell are these blue things? My life is in danger! "O- Owen we gotta get out of here!"

Owen snaps to his senses as the blobs continue to hammer the window in a rhythm. "Okay, there's gotta be a back exit! We can get out through the rear! Where's the door, damnit!" He demands of the employees.

The man stands up and beckons us to follow him with a wave. "This way!" He drags the woman by the hand as we follow him around the counter and pushes a door to go into a kitchen area. The woman turns around and quickly locks the door behind us. There's no one there, and the kitchen is pitch black.

"Hurry, the exit is in the back!" He runs past stovetops until we arrive at the corner of the room. A metal door is there with a rectangular window, our escape route. I glance back nervously, and after a few tense seconds the distinct sound of glass shattering pieces the silence. The roar of a thousand little voices spitting out a call of "Dog-goo" swarms the room we just left.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!" The man exclaims, fumbling through his pockets.

"Oh, what is it?!" I ask, fidgeting frantically.

"I don't have the damn key!" He sobs.

 _You need a key to use the exit? What the hell?_

"Oh damnit. We're all gonna die!" He screeches and falls to the ground at wits end.

Wait a second. I don't wanna die here! Owen looks at me and points to a square window up on the ceiling. There's a stovetop beneath it, so it's definitely possible to get up there if we pull each other up.

"I've got a plan." Owen reassures us. The blobs start to slam against the next door, the only thing between us and certain death. "If you can push me up through that window I'll pull you up. We might be able to get everyone out if we move quickly enough."

"Alright, let's move it!" I nod, and the employees look up at up with renewed hope in the faint light. Owen picks up a frying pan and tosses the pan with all his might out the window, shattering it and sending glass shards to the ground along with some snow that had accumulated on top of the window. The cold air rushes in, mixing with the warm air of the kitchen. I hand him a pair of oven mitts that were hanging from an oven, and crouch down below the opening with my fingers interlocked. Owen faces me and sets a foot into my hands with his hands on my shoulders.

"On my mark, ready. Set. Go!" Owen counts down. I push him upwards and luckily he manages to grasp the window's edge. He pulls himself upwards, swinging his legs wildly. Once at the top he looks down over the edge at me, extending an ungloved hand.

I look at the doorway, and notice how hard the blobs are slamming against it. They are hitting it with a huge amount of combined force, close to throwing it off it's hinges. I jump up as high as I can and grasp his wrist. Owen grabs my arm with both hands, and I do the same. Owen grunts and pulls me up the rest of the way, but as I come over the edge I scrape my legs against the exposed glass, slightly shredding my clothing.

"Okay, okay, now me, me! Please help me!" The man scrambles beneath the window and holds up both hands. Owen and I lie back down on the snow-covered concrete opposite each other and throw our arms down. Just as we do, the doors of the kitchen burst open, letting in an avalanche of blobs.

"Goo Goo, Dogoo!" They project their tiny voices in a horde, becoming much more menacing despite their cute appearance.

"Oh God, why?" He whimpers softly in defeat and lowers his arms.

 _Oh shit._

The woman lets out a shrill scream which is quickly muffled. I'm glad I didn't see it, but I can feel that this will haunt me forever. I pull my hands back reluctantly and so does Owen. The man lets out a few tears, staring right up through the window, before some blobs violently overtake him, leaping from the side and throwing him off the stove. He doesn't scream.

I scrabble backwards and away from the window. My life persists. Safe for the time being.

I look over at Owen who is panting heavily and covering his face with a hand. The sounds of the monsters die down, and I can assume they have dispersed to find more people to kill.

"I'm at a loss for words, Nathan." He shudders.

I look back up into the sky. The snow is falling like it was ten minutes ago, and it feels alien to me. Just ten minutes ago I was getting a doughnut with a friend, and now I just saw a whole bunch of people die at the hands of Dog-faced monsters. Some morning, huh.

A few gunshots ring out, and I hear fighting erupt across town. I sit upright and take in the scenery. I can see many fires have broken loose across the urban landscape, maybe in an attempt to halt the miraculous flow of monsters. What are those things, and why are they killing people? Is my mother okay? My house is not far from here. Those monsters might have gotten to her by now. Oh man.

I don't mean to, but a few tears come down my face. I look at Owen, and he has gotten up and is leaning against the edge of the building. I bring up a sleeve and wipe my eyes. I've got to get off my sorry ass. There's a time and place for everything, that's what my mother always said. And in this case, lamenting about what is unpreventable and wasting time will only get us killed.

I saunter to Owen's side and place my hands on the cold brick wall.

"What the hell." I state.

"Agreed." He replies after a long pause. "Where to next, Nate?" He asks me, his tone bitter.

"For me, I'm thinking that getting of this roof is suicide. Everywhere accessible by foot is bound to have been overrun by those creatures. Look around us," I scan the horizon, only to see devastation and hear chaos. "I'm just really confused right now and need a moment. We'll think of something. You get me?"

"Yeah… yeah I understand." Owen sighs. He reaches into a pocket and pulls out his phone. He presses a button and yup, it's dead. "Happy 2017, I just got this new phone on Christmas. Thought this stuff should last through the apocalypse, but I guess that ain't the case." He sets his phone gently back into his pocket.

This really sucks. For all we know we might be the only ones left alive in town. Doubtful, but if you really think about it it's very much possible. I'm not the type of guy to sit around and lament about our situation, so let's see what we can do.

I look over the edge of the building and the streets are deserted. A few corpses here and there along with a few fires springing up, and in the distance I can see more of those creatures hopping away from us. The ones who were after us probably cleared out by now, but it's hard to tell for sure.

We can't survive up on the roof forever. I know we're going to have to make a run for it, maybe get to the town next over. We need to know what's going on, so if we can find a working radio or even a source of electricity for our phones that would work wonders. I'm not sure how far that mysterious EMP effect extended for, but there must be a limit. For transportation we could find a working car that got abandoned or maybe even a pair of bicycles. I think we're gonna make it. At least until the night. Or until Murphy's Law kicks in.

No time to be so down in the dumps.

"Hey Owen," I place a hand on his shoulder and he looks over at me. "I've got a plan."


	2. Chapter 2

"You ready, Owen?" I lean over the edge of the building, anxious that something will go wrong. If any monsters at all are nearby and spots us, we're so screwed.

Owen shakily lets out a deep breath, rubbing his hands together in the warm fog that erupted from his mouth.

"As ready as I'll ever be." Owen murmurs, quivering.

"That's what I like to hear." I proclaim with confidence. "On three, ready?" Even if I'm scared shitless, I gotta look strong for Owen. Or at least I'll try to.

"Dude, I said I was ready! Let's get going!" Owen spits and mantles quickly over the wall to the sidewalk.

 _Oh well._ I slide myself over the edge and land on the ground with a thump.

"Hey, get a move on!" Owen rushes, waving me over to him. He jogged over to the corner at the intersection and took a left. He knows the way to my house just as well as I do, so I let him take the lead without disagreement. I sprint to catch up to him before easing into a slower pace beside him. We were on the track team at school, so I was confident in my running abilities. As for Owen, he's not as good as I am, but he's still quite competent.

The once-familiar streets now appear ransacked and abandoned with the doors and windows broken down. Most likely the monster's method of entry. I clearly remember fires and gunshots from downtown, so there may have been some conflict. Here people must have been caught sleeping in on a Saturday. Whether they died peacefully is a mystery to me. Aside from the broken down entryways, the barren streets are calm and give off a forlorn ambience. Dreamlike. Yet I know this isn't a dream.

Once we pass the playground we take a right across the street. Hold up a second.

"Hey man, wait up! Check it out!" I call out to Owen in a hushed tone.

"Nate, are we under attack? what is it?" Owen steps back beside me, glancing worryingly towards the playground.

I point a finger at the traffic light. Owen gasps. The damn light is on! This part of town must still have power! I almost jump for joy in agreement as Owen lets out a muffled "Yes!".

"Once we get to your house, you're letting me use your charger." He taunts, walking back on track.

"Alright, whatever." I chuckle, accelerating into a jog along the center of the street.

My street is usually blanketed in shadows from the dense amount trees that surround it, but in the winter light can illuminate the street uninterrupted. It's a drowsy grey light from the clouds, but it's a welcome light nonetheless.

The houses have all been broken into. As we get closer to my house my heart begins to race, and my hope continues to diminish. The front lawn of my neighbor is covered in a thin layer of snow by now, but has several faint tracks molded into the powder. Unnatural circular tracks dot the ground, but they have long since faded. Lucky for us, they must have moved on long before we got here. Which goes to show their efficiency, we've been gone for little over half an hour and whole blocks have been deprived of life.

I stop in front of my neighbor's house. His home has a big red maple tree in his front yard, and his house is a dark brownish red, similar to that of the tree when it had leaves on it's branches. His name was John Murphy. I'd come over to play with his son after elementary school sometimes, and he is the one who got me into video games. Good man. I stifle back tears, remembering all the good times I had over there. He was like a father to me. All those memories are going to live on with me, which cheers me up a little.

"Nathan, what's the hold up?" Owen asks behind me, breaking me out of my thought.

"Oh, nothing. Just thinking, that's all." I say, and step onto the sidewalk.

"If you say so." Owen nods. He knows I'm thinking about John.

I walk up to the door of my house. It's a heavy wood door painted a light blue with a little square window by the top. The window has been smashed, sharp shards of glass all that remains of the fragile barrier.

I left the door locked, but I keep a key in my right pocket of my pants. After fishing it out, I unlock the door and push it open gently with a single hand. It swings at a steady pace before tapping the wall on which it is hinged. I set foot back into my home's living room, and Owen follows suit.

"No need to take off your shoes now, Owen." I murmur, moping to the center of the room.

The whole living room is in complete and utter disarray. Our little coffee table is overturned with splotches of blue goo slathered across it, as is everything else in the room. The TV we had is off of it's platform and on the ground, split into two parts.

"Damn." I mumble to myself, rubbing the couch fondly where it is still clean. It's as if a mad Jello-man had ransacked the whole house, throwing up on everything, leaving nothing untouched.

 _Mom._

My mother's room is set between the kitchen and the living room, under the stairwell that leads to my room. It's kept dark because of the distinct lack of windows, and the one window there is in the room is facing away from the sun, so no natural light can get in during the morning.

My shoes are heavy against the floor.

The door is wide open, but there are definite signs of a struggle as there is lots of goo covering the doorway, indicating they had to stack up and breach it forcefully with numbers. I flip on the light switch inside the room, illuminating the white walls spotted blue. Her bed is left unmade, which my mom would frown at immediately if she were to see it now. She sleeps with a smaller blanket along with a heavy one beneath it, and the lighter blanket has been pulled off the bed and over a heap of something on the ground.

You gotta be kidding me. This is a fucking nightmare, one of those vivid ones, isn't it? There's no way any of this is real. This is real life, not your damn game! Not a damn cartoon! I'm not having a laugh at this. Agh!

I'm crying. I hold my hand up and cover my eyes. I'm not even eighteen yet and everyone's dead. Damn it. Damn it.

A hand is placed on my shoulder. It's Owen.

"Hey. You're going to be okay." He tries to reassure me.

"Oh fuck it, Owen, that's not what I needed right now." I whimper. "And don't start up saying it's going to be okay, it's not okay and I know it. My Mom's dead, Owen. She's fucking dead. I know you don't give a shit about your parents but I do. Alright? Just give me five seconds." I can't lose control of my emotions, that's just going to screw up my rational thinking.

Owen steps back into the kitchen.

I'm going to get back at whoever did this. If I have to, I'm going to find a way and kill every last one of those little blue fucks. No. No no no no. I'm thinking irrationally. Revenge never solves problems. An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.

She didn't deserve to die like she did. But I need to move on. For her sake and mine.

I wipe my face with my sleeve and take a step back. With my right hand I reach out and grasp the door handle and close my eyes as I close the door gently.

I slap my hands together and spin around.

"Okay, Owen, you hungry or something? You know where the phone chargers are at, fetch me one too if you don't mind." I ask.

"You got it! We should finish off any food in the fridge and start packing the non perishables. You feeling okay, Nate?" Owen returns with a question as he fetches two cords from a drawer.

"I could be better. But I can mourn later. Necessity calls." I state. "How're you holding up?"

"You know I hate my stepfather. I'm glad to see him off this earth. If my mom were still around, yeah, I'd be depressed as shit. But it's over. We gotta move on, Nate." Owen tells me, plugging in his phone.

"Yeah." I reply. "Hey, I'm going to flip on the radio. If you have any suspicions that the monsters are going to hear us, I'll turn it right back off."

"Sure can do." Owen's phone appears to have turned back on, and he's swiping on the touchscreen. As for me, I turn on the radio on the countertop and start turning the dial. Lots of static so far… Aha! I connect to a working station and turn the volume up slightly. A middle-aged woman reporter is speaking frantically.

* * *

"-yone is still out there, stay away from Boston! The whole city is filled with the Dogoo infestation, and flying whales have taken down the John Hancock Tower! We're getting reports that the military just now arrived in the Financial District… Oh God… Tom!"

"What is it Joan?" A man who I believe to be Tom asks.

"We're getting word from the outside world and it doesn't look pretty at all. No one else is better off than we are, Tom."

Tom speaks up. "For those of you just tuning in, in the past few hours various species of monsters have been popping up across the globe, killing people and leaving the military in shambles!"

"That's right Tom. Could this just be the end of the world as we know it?"

"Maybe Joan, things are not looking up for humanity in any way."

"Well Tom, there are..."

* * *

I rest my arms on the countertop as my mind begins to wander. Of course I knew this was really happening, but after everything that just went down and after hearing about it on the radio, it all feels so surreal. I'd love some time to sort it all through inside myself and get over it, but those Dogoo things are out there. If we are to defeat them, we're going to need to know more about them. Their weaknesses, where they come from. Do we have any weapons in the house? None that I remember. But I do recall John having a sweet gun over the mantelpiece, it would be best if we take it on our journey.

I turn the dial down on the radio, reducing its volume to a dull hum. We need to start packing, and fast. I'd bet twenty bucks that they can smell us from wherever the hell they are, so we need to get moving. Oh shoot, I forgot to plug my phone in! I reach out and gasp a charging cord beside the radio and swifty insert it into its corresponding slot. There we go, now for packing.

"Owen, have you got the food?" I turn around and ask politely.

"I was working on it as you were dozing off there. I'm going to head down to the pantry in a sec." He exclaimed, preoccupied with stuffing a tote bag full of food. He's also got a dark blue duffle bag from the closet in my room thrown over his shoulder, and the contents of my school backpack have been conveniently emptied in the hall, courtesy of Owen. The bag is big enough for my books, so it's gotta be more than enough for all the things I might bring.

He's looted the medicine cabinet along with the fridge, but there are still a lot of things inside of it that we can't bring with us.

I pick up my bag and jog up to my room, where I throw in two sets of clothes and other miscellaneous items, including an old knife and a lightly-colored winter gear, and hop over to the bathroom for toiletries.

By the time I get back downstairs Owen is standing beside the sink, staring out a window in the kitchen facing the backyard. The snow has gained an inch or two more, and it won't be long before it piles higher than is easily transferable. There's smoke rising high above the houses in the distance, and I shiver at the thought of whatever might be going on.

"Hey." I adjust the backpack's straps, making it tighter as I walk up to Owen. "We should go."

"I know." He replies with a deep breath. The snow continues to pile up. I stride over to my phone and retrieve it with it at 80 percent charged. Decent enough.

"Owen, I don't wanna stay here any longer. It's only going to get colder out, we really should leave." I request, urgency in my voice.

"Yeah, yeah." He mutters, bends over and swings the duffle bag over his back, and grasps the tote bag in his left fist. I'm glad he listens to reason when it comes to getting a move on. He nods and gestures towards the door. "Well?"

As we pass my mother's room on our way out I don't look back.

I reach out and swing the door open, a gust of wind and snow gliding past my exposed face. I'm glad I brought this beanie. I walk down towards the street over the snow covered pathway, and pull it down over my ears with two gloved fingers. Owen took a fuzzy black aviator hat and covers his face his his free, mittened hand until we get to the sidewalk.

The wind comes and goes at it's leisure, and each time a breeze blows by the harder and harder it is to feel my face. It's a slow but steady process.

"I'm gonna run inside and grab John's gun, wait right here! Holler if you see something!" I inform my partner stolidly, and jog towards John's front porch.

"Alright, I'll just stand here, in the snow…" Owen remarks and leans against a tree.

* * *

The old wood surface of the porch creaks with each one of my steps. I stand in front of the door for a moment, unsure how to get in as the main entryway is completely intact. Oh wait, the windows to my left are completely fucked! I'll go and climb in through there.

It's a tight fit, but I manage not to scrape my balls as I intrude into my neighbor's living room. It's a nice green color with a dull theme to the furniture, but the walls and floor are covered in the same blue goo as everything else.

And in the center of the wall opposite me lies a pristine bolt-action 22. Caliber rifle. I traipse over and slowly lift it off it's throne above the fireplace. It feels wrong of me to take it, but I reassure myself knowing it's out of necessity. For a few seconds I admire it, instantly noticing the distinct lack of ammunition. Well, John was never a person to go far for his things, and with a single scan of the eyes I spot a metal box on a tall shelf. I reach up, grab it, and bring it down onto the couch before opening it. Luckily for me it's not locked, and it's contents might as well have sparkled.

Four magazines with I believe to be ten rounds each, and a box of loose rounds. I've done some shooting before, and knew exactly where it's rightful spot belongs. I slip three of the magazines into the pockets of my jacket, and place the box of rounds into my bag.

In a single fluid motion I pull the bolt backwards. I pluck the last magazine out of the container and click it directly in front of the trigger guard, into it's rightful place before pushing the bolt back into it's spot, loading a round into the chamber.

Thanks, John. I pick up the metal box and return it to it's spot on the shelf and turn around.

 _Flop, squish_

Huh? I swear I heard something coming from upstairs. Is John alive? No, the house got broken into. Did Owen slip inside when I was busy with the gun?

 _Squish, PLOP_

My eyes dart to the hallway furthest from me, the one leading further into the house. A single Dogoo seems to have been left behind as it peeks around the corner with a goofy grin plastered onto it's face. It rounds the corner with a little hop, leaving a small puddle of goo behind.

"Wha!" I scramble for the gun, and abruptly line the sights up with the slimeball in my crosshairs. My whole body is shaking, and it's hard to steady my aim like this. It takes a leap forward, landing almost three yards away from me. Oh shit man, way too close!

I squeeze the trigger and my eyes do the same, tensing up awaiting the soft blast of the small rifle.

Nothing happened. The trigger didn't even budge an millimeter! Oh man, is the damn gun jammed or something?

It was at this moment I realised the issue. The gun had the safety on, and I scrabbled to flip it with my right thumb. And then the Dogoo leaped right at me as if I were a deer caught in headlights, which I kinda was.

 **POW!**

The bullet tore the little creature apart, but it didn't stop it. The bullet wasn't big enough to bring it down it seemed, but it did stop the guy mid-air. Stange. But I'm not going to ponder the illogicality of this. I've gotta get outta here!

I skirt around the creature and dash for the window, rifle in hand. Vaulting the windowsill as fast as I can, I get out of the building and run right over to Owen, who is still standing beside the tree as snow piled on top on him.

"You took longer than I expected. Something happen in there?" Owen quirks, not averting his stare.

"Dude! There's a shitstain in there! Fucking run like your life depends on it!" I slap him on the shoulder and keep running to his right. I slow down and look back before shouting, "It does!"

He was roused from his tranquil state right after I started talking to him, but he's got to hurry up! He fumbled with the bag of food and had to pick it up again. The top of the bag is sealed, but he still took way too long picking it back up and the Dogoo seems to have got some friends. A cluster of them are all hopping on their merry way straight for us with dinky little hops and skips.

I bolt the rifle, and a shell lands in the snow, soft against the street.

I take aim at the nose of one of them and fire the gun.

It's a direct hit! The nose gets torn off it's little body and flies off in gooey pieces. The main body concaves inwards where the bullet hit, and stays that way for a moment before the whole thing violently shatters into little glowing fragments that dissolve in the wind. What the hell?

"Let's move it, c'mon!" I shout, bolting the rifle again.

"I got it, It got it, just go!" Owen yells in return, irritated at my nagging.

He passes me and we run down the street back towards the park. At the intersection he points right, away from town. I don't hesitate and follow him, the Dogoos hot on my tail. I don't dare look back.

The sidewalk bends to the left further down, and leads to a bridge. The bridge is the only safe crossing to the other side for several miles in either direction, so it's imperative that we cross here or never again. It's not long of a bridge, and it shouldn't take us forever to cross. When we get close, my mind registers a bridge of death from a bad zombie apocalypse movie, intensely startling me..

There's many abandoned cars with a single abandoned pickup truck laid on it's side, as though it was thrown by a giant or something. A fight definitely erupted here as the ground is covered in all sorts of unnatural cracks and potholes. At the center of the bridge is a fire truck, with it's hose unraveled several feet.

Owen makes the decision to cross the bridge, so I follow suit, weaving through copious cars and other abandoned vehicles. Bodies of people still trapped inside their cars are covered in goo, and the people who managed to get out of their vehicle are sprawled against the ground or the surface of other cars, with eyes staring at nothing and everything at the same time.

"Shit man, they're right on our heels! I can't run forever, not like this." I pant heavily as I lean against the fire truck.

"You're right. I can't go much further." Owen looks back and the Doggos are jumping over and through the cars, some briefly and sniffing a body before moving on, much to my dismay.

The pickup truck was full of boxes when it got tipped over, and I step closer to one as to examine the contents.

"There's no time to be reading random shit on the ground, we should just run until we get to the end of this jam. There's bound to be a working car there, let's go!" Owen leans over and brings a foot back in preparation to kick it.

"No! Stop!" I extend an arm and push him back. "Do you know what this is?"

"Nothing important…" Owen examines the label before gasping. "Holy shit! That stuff's pure Sodium! What the actual hell is that doing here?" Owen exclaims, flabbergasted.

"I don't give a damn! Do you have any idea how to work the hose of that truck?" I point to the fire truck.

"I have no fucking idea!" He squeals as he breaks into a sprint over to the switches and levers on the side of the truck, and I dash over to the rear of the truck. "Just wing it! We can make it!"

I pace the rifle down against the truck and climb up the ladder at breakneck speeds, and Owen knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"Catch!" Owen shouts and tosses the hose at me. It slaps against the roof of the truck, but I meander over and snag it before it falls off. Puzzled with no idea what to do, Owen slips every switch and throws every lever as fast as he can, and as he starts pulling on a lever labeled as 'water' the hose starts tensing up.

I scramble into a solid stance just as the water sprays out in all it's glory. Wrestling for control, I manage to keep it leveled at the boxes of pure Sodium just as the Doggos draw close.

 _Goo! Dog-goo!_

They burst with happiness, or rather the sodium does. The resulting detonation sends fumes in all directions, rocking the bridge, sending shockwaves through the air and throwing me completely off balance. The hose goes flying from my hands as I get disoriented, and struggle to get proper footing on the roof of the truck. Everything has gone to absolute shit, and Owen knows it. He frantically manages to shut down the water, and barely succeeds.

The Dogoos all erupt into vibrant sparkles, leaving no trace that they were once there. The bridge does not get as much of a peaceful demise, and caves in on itself, bringing support beams down and to sum it up, EVERYTHING IS BREAKING AND WE ARE GOING TO DIE.

My ears are still ringing from the massive explosion, and Owen is trying to tell me something. He cupped his hands around his mouth and is still shrieking, but I can't hear him.

"-ff the bridge! Get down! Run you fool!"

Ah. That's what he's saying.

I jump down and off the truck, the bridge rocking greatly making footing difficult to obtain. The rifle falls over and I scoop it up as Owen and I run past. I don't see why we're running so fast, and my legs are really sore from everything that has happened, making each step painful.

Owen doesn't stop until we finally get to solid ground on the other side and, inexplicably, the bridge's entire middle section collapses and splashes in the river, sending huge waves in all directions.

It's quiet again. I lean against an abandoned SUV beside Owen, completely spent.

As the adrenaline wears off, my body starts hurting from the explosion and I truly feel exhausted. No amount of working out or running can prepare you for something like that. Why the hell was someone just casually transporting dangerous chemicals like sodium anyways? Sure, I'm not complaining that it was there but it really seems… illogical.

Everything is illogical now, it seems. Whatever comes next, I doubt anyone will be ready for it. Speaking of people, it's getting really lonely out here.

The snow continues to fall steadily, and the sun sits at it's peak, shining boldly through a clearing within a patch of clouds. A sign of good things to come? Nah, I don't believe in that kinda stuff. At the rate things are going, anything is possible.


	3. Chapter 3

I think we're getting good at this. I mean, my back is still killing me, but at least now we know how to kill those things. It's only a matter of time until we run into civilization. At least, that's what we've been hoping on our way north towards Boston.

We're still trudging onward down the snow-covered road with the ruined bridge behind us, and it's my turn to carry the bag of food. Owen's clutching the rifle right now, and is walking at a slow pace to let me keep up with him. The flaps over his ears flutter softly in the wind, and I can't help but smile. He's trying to look all serious, but those ears send that image down the drain.

The road curves alongside the freezing river with a thin line of trees barring us from the frozen shoreline. The snow piles higher and higher on the cement before me and our tracks become much more prominent than before, which might be cause for concern as the day progresses.

Owen looks back over his shoulder at me in a sudden halt. "It's gonna be like half an hour to the next town over at this rate." He sighs as I step to his left. It's getting close to three in the afternoon and the winter sun is slowly dipping closer to the horizon. It won't be long before it gets dark, and we're forced to either find shelter soon or walk in the dusk.

"Hey now, we got this. Maybe one of those cars over there will still be on, maybe we can take'em." I stutter in exhaustion, pointing in front of us to where there are several abandoned cars. They are in relatively good condition, although some have the windows cracked and doors smashed into. The derelict vehicles lie in solemn rows around the bend, and paint a creepy picture as the dead woods fill the background.

"Don't count on it." He spits roughly and pulls the rifle up to his chest, starting the march to the cars. I do a little shrug and follow in his footsteps.

"Hey, maybe there are survivors, people still alive!" I say hopefully. My grip tightens on the bag of food when Owen stops dead in his tracks.

"Oh come on, just look at this thing!" He snarls as he taps a black jeep with the butt of the rifle. The vehicle had crashed harshly into the van in front of it, and the hood is covered in glass shards. The doors have been viciously thrown off and a trail of blood streams from the front seat and into the shallow woods beside the road.

I clench my stomach in an attempt not to throw up when I peer into the woods. I stride up to a white van and swipe the snow-covered window clean.

I suddenly stumble backwards in fear and snap my hand away from the vehicle. The van appears to be in working condition even with damage marks and blood dotting its surface, but that isn't what scares me. A bald man, no older than forty years of age, has a pump shotgun wedged into his mouth.

"Shit!" I exclaim, releasing the tote bag and clutching my chest, retching uncontrollably.

Owen gasps and jogs over to my weakened side in a hurry.

"Dude, what the hell? You good?" He steps behind me, asking uneasily.

I hold a finger up, and after a few seconds I gather the strength to respond.

"Yeah, yeah. It's just… Damn it, that guy just shot himself!" I steady myself, scrambling for words.

"What?" Owen piques. He looks up and steps up to the window. I pick up the bag again with my left hand, rubbing the back of my neck.

"This is messed up." He states without emotion and swings the door open.

"What are you doing?" I stammer. The body of the man slams lifelessly out of the van and onto the snow-covered ground, the shotgun clattering against the doorframe on it's way out.

"Here, take this." He hands me the rifle and I bring my hands forward to accept it. He shoves it into my grip. Owen bends over and snatches the shotgun of the ground.

I pull the tote bag over my shoulder and take a few steps back. Owen pumps the gun and an empty shell pops out.

"We got a few shots left in here, might as well use'em." Owen murmurs as he examines the gun, wiping off the muzzle with a sleeve.

"That man killed himself with that! Dude!" I cry out in shock. What the hell Owen?

"You wanna live or not? Quit squirming like an idiot and let's get us a car." He frowns as he sets the shotgun down next to the door. It's wedged between that jeep and another car, making it impossible for it to maneuver through. This man's van isn't going anywhere.

Owen ventures inside the van, reaching further into its bowels from the driver's side door.

"Ima loot this car. Nathan, go find one that works!" Owen shoots back at me. He gets really aggressive when confronted with danger or a threat, and this is no exception. I don't wish to be like him in that aspect, but it would be nice to not get the heebie-jeebies by walking alone through this graveyard.

"I'll be back." I call back at him with a hint of uneasiness, and press onward into the jam of cars.

* * *

I walk the double yellow lines in the center of the road, flanked by cars frozen solid, pointing the light rifle out in front of me defensively. The wind really picked up now, and the layers of white dust accumulated on the vehicles are swept up in beautiful curves, sweeping across the apocalyptic streets gently. All around me there is naught but the dull roar of the wind, not a single man-made noise to be heard. With the absence of the bustle of life and the safety of home, the beauty of time reveals itself. It's so tranquil, I stop to take it all in. It's like I'm trapped in a game of The Division, it's so unreal.

I look down at myself, and I feel serine. I also notice the tiny tracks for the first time. I kneel to investigate, squinting against the snowfall to see clearer.

Fresh human tracks. A child had been here sometime in the past ten minutes while it was still snowing, the shallow impression only bears a thin veil of flakes over the crisp and jagged outline. The child had also dragging something behind them, as to the right a soft line had been cleared through the snow.

I get back up and step forwards. In the distance I discover an overturned van marking a small clearing, it most likely slipped and fell over while dodging the creatures, or maybe in some ice. Nevertheless traffic stemmed into two parts, protruding into two lanes around the vehicle in order to get past.

And I can make out the outline of a young girl, a blonde child still in elementary school, curled up into a ball at the side of the van, leaning against the overturned roof. She wears a plump yellow and black striped jacket with a hood along with black shorts, and she isn't moving in the slightest. Oh man, I think she might've froze to death.

Definitely froze to death by the looks of it. I jog over to her side and lay my rifle down on the ground behind me. She's hunched over with her arms wrapped around her legs, draping a limited amount of clothing over her exposed skin. If she stays out here any longer she's definitely going to freeze if she hadn't already, but there are no buildings for a while, the closest I know of being a gas station too far back. Oh jeez, what should I do?

I kneel down in front of her and lean forward.

"Hey, are you alright?" I already know the answer, but I can't help but speak.

My words encounter their target, and she begins to stir. She's alive!

Her head shakes as she turns it to look at me. "It's so cold…"

Oh. Her eyes are so soft and innocent, yet filled with dread and fear.

"Hey, hey, hey," I slip off my hat and slide it over her head. "You need to get shelter and clothes, I'm here to help you." I whisper softly. I don't wanna startle her, but she seriously needs to get help.

She whimpers as I pull it down over her ears, but doesn't protest physically. I can tell she's not used to being around strangers, but it's a time of necessity and she knows it. My own ears, however, receive the brunt of the weather now that they have been exposed to the elements.

"You gotta get up or you'll freeze. C'mon, I'll get you better pants when we get out of the cold." I coax, rising to my feet.

Reluctantly, she uncovers her legs and I pull her to her feet. That must have been hard for her, because now she's shivering like a Texan caught in a New England winter. I need to find shelter for us, but where?

I pick up my rifle and gently usher her forwards, the direction opposite Owen. I try to open the rear of the overturned van, but it doesn't work. The door is jammed shut, so we must keep moving.

"Mmh!" She buzzes to get my attention. She points off to my right, where I had entered the urban clearing. Beside a car's tire lies a little doll, fallen and covered with snow. Little significance to me, but to her it must be important. "Neptuna!" She puffs.

"Ah, one sec." I trot over to the tire and retrieve it hastily. "Heres your Neptune." I drop the doll into her arms. It's rather large for a doll, at least in my opinion. I don't really know my dolls, but I'm pretty sure they aren't meant to be as big as a child's leg.

She looks a lot happier now despite the snow and the cold now that she has her doll. She brings it up to her chest and hugs it tightly, whispering something to it. Then she glances up at me, as if asking me to lead the way. I smile back at her and set off once more, at a slow pace so she can keep up.

"So," I want to ask a question, but I'm not sure what would be acceptable to ask a child in this situation. I guess I should start off with an introduction. "My name's Nathan, What's your name?"

"Umm… m-my name's Peashy! Don't you forget it mister!" She declares proudly yet still shivering.

"Nice to meet you, Peashy. I promise I won't forget your name." It's quite the foreign name, sounds Australian. But then again, I don't know any Australian names. Maybe she's a tourist from eastern Europe. They got exotic names out there. And I'm also horrible with names, so I might not be able to hold myself to my word there. Eh.

Aha! A cargo truck stands tall in our path, potentially a lifesaver. I never shopped at Star Market, but boy am I glad that they exist now.

"Hey, look over there! Let's get into that truck!" I exclaim, pointing forward.

She doesn't object. I'm guessing it's not going to be very warm inside, but at least there'll be shelter from the wind.

Once we get to the truck, I examine the door. There's a contraption keeping the whole thing closed up between two metal handlebars. I've never seen one of these opened, but I'm sure it should be easy. And sure enough, it's a simple stick stuck between two holes. I lift the stopper out of it's slot and tug on the handlebars with all my might.

The door swings open with a hollow creak, and I hop inside, reaching back for my companion. She grasps my hand and I pull her inside, shutting the doors behind her.

I can still hear the wind howling outside, but the sound is much more dim and distant than before. It's cold, and the interior of the truck is empty, save the scent of soiled grapes. It's also really dark, and the only light streams inside through the cracks of the door.

"Hey, I'm gonna get a light, hold on!" I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, and activate the flashlight feature. Hooray, now I can see my breath. I pull off my bag and put it on the ground.

"Peashy, how you holding up?" I ask her, kneeling and ruffling through my backpack.

"I'm great! It's still a little chilly, but I'm feeling great now!" She proclaims. She hugs her doll again and steps closer to me, interested in what I'm doing.

I highly doubt she's feeling anywhere near warm right now. She stopped shivering, but it's preposterous for her to not be cold. Anyone not accommodated to the cold usually freezes when it's 40 degrees Fahrenheit out, at least to my experience. Maybe she's Scandinavian. Those guys are innately resistant to the cold. Her name fits, too. I haven't heard of someone named "Peashy" from up north, but I've never heard of someone named Aðalbjörg before either.

"What do you mean you're not cold!" I say humorously. "Even I'm cold, and I'm wearing a jacket!"

"Ha! You're just broken!" She laughs. What? Did she just call me disabled or something? I mean… I don't know if she meant that as an insult or anything, but that's quite the language coming from someone as young as her. Maybe she meant that innocently, children usually don't know what they're saying.

"Big girl Neptune says people with no level are broken, and should die!" She professes in a startlingly melodramatically cheery way.

"Uhh, Peashy? Who's this Neptune you're talking about?" Whoever that woman is doesn't sound like a good influence at all. Maybe Neptune is Peashy's sister. Bad influences like that usually stem from family.

"Nep Nep is the best! Well, she used to be. She's all mean and scary now, I miss the little Nep. Ooh! Ooh! Big Nep is good too, super boyong boyong! Nathan, are you boyong?" Ah, maybe she was an abusive mother. Definitely an abusive mother. Alcohol can seriously ruin families, it's a shame this had happened to Peashy. Wait, what?

She jumps right on my back while I kneeled over to prod my bag, right while I was weakest.

"I'm bored! Boyong! Boyong!" She grips my shoulders like a boney pair of pliers. She's really strong! What the hell?

"EEEEEEEEH?" I jolt upright, but stumble and fall over onto my side in a single rigid motion, dropping the phone-flashlight.

"Oof!" I land violently, and Peashy just laughs.

"I win! Ahahaha! Again! Die! Die! Die!" She cries playfully. She's a machine, unable to be shaken off or halted.

"Ach! Peashy!" I roll helplessly on the ground as she laughs like a maniac, pulling me around like a toy. She's not only got a grip of steel, but is also a damn superwoman. Maybe I'm just really light.

I've got one last card up my sleeve. "C'mon, cut it out! Hey, I've got chocolate!"

"Chocolate? I want it! I want it!" She releases me, and my head falls from it's elevated position to the ground. Ouch. I use the wall of the truck to pull myself to my feet, and reach for my phone again.

"Ugh… here, have it all." I grumble, stumbling over to my bag and pulling out a cheap bar of Hershey's chocolate. It's all crumbled after the events that occurred today and I was saving it for when I really needed it, but I guess this is as good a use as any. I hold it out in front of her, and she eyes it greedily.

"Do you promise not to surprise me again?" I dangle it in a teasing manner, and she shakes her head rapidly.

"Mmhm! Mmhm!" She snatches it out of my hands and tears the wrapper off before devouring the bar. She's like a kid on steroids, and I just about gave her an energy drink. And now I might have just as well painted a bullseye on myself.

And it's gone. The whole bar, crumbs and all. That was less than a minute, damn. I hope I have more, or else the next time I get trampled by her I'm dead.

"BUUURP." She burps without a care in the world, and looks at me lazily. "Hey… Nay- Than!"

"Hey Peashy, don't you think we should be getting you home to your parents? Or at least, we need to get out of this truck now that you're warm." I don't wanna mess with this girl any longer. This whole encounter was a mistake, I can feel it.

"Eh?" She looks at me with a puzzled expression. "Oh, Ploot will come for me, she said she will always take care of me! I think. Oh! Look!" She grins and points behind me.

"Huh?" I arch my neck around to look behind myself.

"Nathan, what the ass-cheese!" Owen stands out in the cold, shock on his face. He holds the shotgun in a threatening manner out in front of him, but it's not pointed at me or her.

"You forgot the food bag back there! We would've starved to death, you idiot!" He scolds, putting the snow-covered tote bag down onto the edge of the truck.

"Hey man, it was a mistake! It won't happen again, I'm telling you!" I wave my arms out in front of myself.

"And whos that little girl behind you? You a creep now o' somethin?" He points behind me with the shotgun at Peashy.

She's cowering behind me, pressing herself against my back and only poking her head out on my left.

"Nathan, stranger danger!" She urges me. She seems to be contemplating something, but I can't tell what. Suddenly, she throws herself out in front of me as if to protect me. "Hey stranger! Don't you be mean to Nay-than!"

Owen lowers the gun a bit and looks up at me, confused. "Nathan, who is she, what's her problem?"

"She's Peashy, some girl I found in trouble out on the road. And Peashy, that's Owen, not a stranger."

Peashy isn't buying it. "Owen! Don't be mean to Nathan!" She says with more determination and anger.

"Hey kid, I do what I want! Nathan's a friend of mine, you ain't the boss of me!" Owen retorts, smirking.

Peashy puffs her chest. "Don't say I didn't warn you! Hyaa!" She runs over to Owen and jumps out into the wind.

Unexpectedly and abruptly Peashy started to glow like crazy, causing me and Owen to stumble back and away from her. I scoop up my bag and rifle and hop out the truck, landing beside Owen.

"What the shit, dude?!" He yells.

"I don't fuckin know man!" I yelp, tightening my grip on the gun.

"She's gone super saiyan! Run!" He shrieks as an orange eyed Peashy emerged, floating, clad in a battle armor from a futuristically themed free-to-play RPG and wielding menacing looking gauntlets. Oh, and she has boobs. Ominously large cannons of death, those can't be real- but there's not time for anything perverted, and my gaze was fixated on those glowing orange eyes anyway.

Owen takes off running for his life while I freeze like a deer in headlights. I just can't move a limb. I can't believe my eyes. I really can't. I've seen all sorts of shit today, but this has gotta take the cake. A flying person with glowing eyes! Was Peashy human to begin with? I can't run from this. I'm a fucking dead man. After standing, awestruck for many moments, I start to backpedal.

All the while, Peashy is just grinning wildly like she always had, and it almost seems alien now that it's on a completely different body. She eases down in front of me, but not nearly slow enough to be remotely comforting. In her right hand she holds my black beanie I lent her, and in an almost humiliating fashion, she slides the beanie back onto my head with a smile. All the while, my grip on the rifle almost snapping it. I'm exaggerating of course, but holy shit!

"Hey… Peashy…" I pipe up nervously. I can feel the sweat sliding down my face in thin streams even in the cold of the winter wonderland.

"Yup! Whadda want!" She snaps her fingers in realization. "Oi! It's Yellow Heart to you, mister Nay-than!"

"Erm, yeah… Yellow Heart… You mind not killing Owen, that would be really nice…" I look into her eyes as she leans forward towards my face, contemplating my request.

"Okay!" She beams with a twinkle in her eye. "Oi! Nay-than! Am I boyong now! Boyong Boyong?" She hops up and down, looking to me for approval, and suddenly I realize what she means by "boyong".

"Ehehe… Sure!" I flash a nervous thumbs up and a big grin. Peashy, still grinning, steps back away from me, and looks like she is about to ask me another question. I look out to the corner of my eye and spot Owen inching towards us like a tiger on the hunt, shotgun in hand.

My eyes widen as his intentions become clear.

"Ehe, ehe.." My forged chuckle dies out as Owen kneels behind a car and pulls the trigger.

The blast racks my ears and echos across the snowy landscape, and Peashy blinks as the pellets smash into her body. She instantaneously frowns.

"Whaaa? Someone tried to shoot me! Oi! Not nice!" She turns around to locate the source. "Owen! I had trusted you!"

Owen, now acknowledging the error of his ways, drops the shotgun onto the ground and holds he hands out in front of himself in surrender.

"Easy, easy now, we can talk this through, right Peachy?" Owen stammers.

"Peachy? Peachy? Oh, playtime is over you…!" Peashy barks, advancing forward to her prey.

There's nothing I can do but accept that reality has been tackled to the ground and pounded into submission.

Oh, what a life.


	4. Chapter 4

As the early morning sun cast it's loving gaze upon the city of Planeptune, the Wind-Walker of Gamindustri sat most serene upon a shallow park bench before a street bustling with life. People sauntered on their busy way to her left and right, taking no notice of her as they marched, their earbuds inserted or hoods drawn. IF's heavy blue and black coat fluttered upwards ever so slightly as a soft november breeze weaseled through the pedestrians. Taking a hand up, she ran a hand through her long brown hair, concerned that it may intrude on her sight.

Futuristic white skyscrapers tickled the heavens with the tallest point of their spires, casting long shadows across the urban landscape. The girl's foot tapped restlessly against the cold, hard ground anxious for the day that laid ahead. Her heart swelled up tight and her breath ran ragged, until she sent a hand to her pocket, and whipped out a pink flip-phone. She snapped it open with a gentle flick of the wrist, and IF glared at the time.

The illuminated numbers, 07:46, glared right back.

Her orders were to arrive at the same meeting room in the Planeptune Basilicom as last time, at precisely 08:00, and not to linger outside the entrance. Each member of high command was to arrive at a separate time, as the chance that enemy spies are in the area presents a risk Purple Heart was not willing to take. The last time she was summoned to a meeting she was to arrive at four in the morning, and before that six in the morning.

IF slid her favorite device back into it's rightful spot, and hoisted herself right off the bench. Taking the same route as last time, she arrived at the hidden side entrance to the Basilicom right at 08:00. The entryway was disguised as a section of curved wall surrounded by a lush garden and tall hedges. By placing her hand on a specific section of the metallic surface, a tiny hidden camera exposed itself at her chest level. IF leaned forwards and allowed the scanner to analyze her sharp green eyes before it beeped in a satisfactory manner, retracting the reinforced door and revealing a long hall.

And as she pulled her last foot past the entrance, it slid shut in less than a second, cutting off the only source of light peering into the eerie chamber. There was absolutely no room to maneuver as the hairs atop her head scraped the ceiling and her arms were pushed towards her waist, and although she wasn't claustrophobic, the phantasmagoric scenery didn't invoke any feelings of comfort in the slightest.

At the very opposite end of the corridor, some thirty feet, a dim lamp was mounted up on the wall. It glimmered a dreary mustard-yellow, sending vague streaks of illumination down the corridor, ushering the girl forward. Below the light was a spotless glass door with a metal handle, and behind it was an elevator suitable for only a single occupant. And it led straight down for and unfathomable distance, all the way down to Planeptune CENTCOM, or central command.

She shrugged off all feelings of doubt, and boldly strode towards the light. No matter how many times she had gone down this same path, nothing could shake away the sinking feeling in her chest.

Although IF was familiar with combat on the smaller scale, combat between herself and an enemy, she was a novice to strategic combat. Ever since the Friendship Treaty was abolished several years ago, the military had undergone massive renovations, and IF was drafted into service along with many other Planeptune guild members. Due to her relations with the goddess of Planeptune, she was pulled aside from a dangerous front-line role and assigned to the prestigious rank of Commander, even when she would have performed much better in just about any other role. Her skills at commanding a whole division of soldiers could be considered decent at best, and this was proven true in numerous virtual war games she was required to do. Nonetheless, IF held herself with confidence and the determination to push past her limits and succeed. After all, the people of Planeptune were _her people_ , and they relied on her to keep them safe. She had to succeed.

IF pulled the door back, and stepped into the bland elevator, pressing the button to descend. She shut the glass door gently, and a metal sheet slid out of the wall, barring her from the exit. IF released a sigh of relief, and an old pop song began to play out of the speakers softly. No matter how much things may change, she thought, some things always stay the same. A smile crept up on her lips, and she reclined against the wall behind her as the elevator drifted her deeper and deeper into the abyss.

 _"Break-break, this is platoon commander calling! Fire mission, target left two-hundred add one-hundred from point X-Ray. Repeat, left two-hundred add one-hundred from point X-Ray. Artillery, high explosive, fire for effect! Over!"_

IF bolted forwards, and slammed her forehead against the metal. She threw her hands over the impact and hissed in pain, recoiling from her unintentional nap. Of course she knew better than to fall asleep in the elevator… but it has been a stressful week. Tonight she'll go right to bed. No television, and no having Compa over. She can't get drowsy on the job again.

But what was that dream? She never heard of a male becoming a commander of a whole platoon in any nation. It must be those wargames getting to her head. Things have been chaotic recently, so it makes sense.

* * *

And with a ding the doors of the elevator opened, with IF stepping into a checkpoint. It was a fairly plain room, with no extravagant decorations or furniture. The walls were painted a drab green with a stripe of purple running horizontally along the center. A single reinforced door sat in the center of the opposite side of the room, and yet another long hallway protruded down each of her flanks. She had no business anywhere down those halls, and the security guards stationed beside them knew it too. A crisp uniformed general marched past the entrance, heels clicking against the marble floor to the Wind Walker's left with a tablet under the arm. No one had time to minge on the job, at least not when so much could be happening. History was always in the making here, and IF couldn't afford to be late. IF's destination was the lone door in front of her, and there she walked.

A wide circular panel jutted out of the center, and once again she methodically lowered herself so her eyes could be examined with the light of the retinal scanner, and thus the door thrust open, allowing her entry. As soon as she stepped in she knew she had messed up.

"-And that is why we must escalate to Readiness Tier five." Purple heart said, standing along the length of a wide oval table occupied by staunch high-ranking officials, all of which looking back to the interloper with mixed expressions.

Ah, Purple Heart, the Goddess of Planeptune. And rightly so! Every motion of her godlike figure was fitting for such a title. Lengthy twin braids draped down to her ankles, highlighting the mature outline of the CPU with a shiny purple color. The narrowing blue eyes of the Goddess sparkled in the dimmed light of the conference room, sending waves of shivers down the spine of the former Guild member. The Goddess's body was tightly wrapped in an elaborate black bodysuit with purple highlights, exposing only her spotless legs. A gloved hand of hers gestured at a bright screen depicting military maneuvers, but gradually and awkwardly lowered itself down as the silence swelled through the room.

"Greetings, IF. You're unexpectedly late." Purple Heart placed a hand on her hip. "Please do take your seat. Since you are so tarty, it seems I shall recap today's briefing, as we were just finishing up."

"Yes Ma'am!" IF stammered, stepping over to her assigned seat and facing the screen. As she quickly got settled as to not hamper progress any further, she stole a quick peek at the analog clock mounted above the doorframe. The time read to be exactly 08:00. How could she be late? She was supposed to be here at 08:00, right? She rubbed her forehead as anger and confusion mounted it's way onto her face, and Purple Heart shot her a puzzled expression.

"Did you not know you were to arrive at 07:30? Your negligence does not bode well with rank, Commander." Purple Heart said, evidently passive-aggressive as she tightened her grip on a tiny white remote. "We don't need any excuses, we can talk later."

IF screamed internally. The woman on her left huffed in annoyance before turning her attention back to the front. Several people murmured to one another and shot her sharp looks as Purple Heart cleared her throat, summoning the attention of the staff. Things may be unfair towards her at times, but this is ridiculous!

Purple Heart initiated the briefing with a clap. "Well! We all know of the discovery of the Sol Dimension. I remember how astounding it was to find a world without Goddesses, without the impact of share energy. Without people. I know for myself that we were all quite excited to explore the only habitable land there, but just weeks ago we uncovered a very startling truth."

Purple Heart utilized the remote to flip to an bird's eye view of the blue marble. She oriented the viewpoint over a wide continent. The scale of the single landmass was far larger than that of all of Gamindustri, stretching from a sea to shining sea.

"This is a recording from several weeks ago." She turned to face the group. "After processing the images it was discovered that the planet is indeed inhabited by beings much like ourselves." IF was quite surprised to hear that. How could they have only just now discovered life? It's been months since they first started analysing the surface with high-resolution imagery. She didn't exactly know nor care about the process in which the world was being explored, but it became a dream of hers to explore the planet on foot. An massive, empty world with it's own alien secrets! It was too good to be true.

"We accessed their internet and learned of a people very different from us. For starters, they have absolutely no knowledge of Share Energy or Goddesses." She took a deep breath. "And without Goddesses, it seems as though our theories were correct. Without guidance from a Console Patron Unit, mortals do become violent savages. Just look for yourselves."

She halted the recording and flipped to a black-and-white image of a muddy child crying alone on the tracks of a bombed out railroad station. Several officials looked away from the screen, and others looked on in solemn solidarity. IF herself was quite appalled at the image. That child was in such pain! Who could do such a thing to a child!

Another picture was displayed, but this time it was of helmeted men in a trench suffocating to what IF assumed was a gas weapon.

The scene flipped. This time, it was a video with audio. IF's eyes widened with fear when she saw several men in civilian clothes and body armor ready weapons in an elevator. When the elevator finally reached it's destination, a man leaned towards the camera and stated with contempt in his eyes, "No Russian". They strode out of the elevator in silence, lining up before a crowd with weapons drawn. Then screaming, and as much as IF wanted to look away, she just watched in horror as the guns started firing and the film was paused.

The Goddess of Planeptune was visibly distraught as she begun to speak. "As you can see from these… horrible images, what the people of the planet they call "Earth" have done to each other. There's no telling what they could do to our people if we came peacefully. We had only begun to scour their version of the internep, and for all we know hundreds of atrocities like the ones you just witnessed exist."

"This justifies our cause." She turned to the screen again, flipping to a blue-dotted diagram of the continent of "North America" with a picture of a deep blue crystal in the corner.

"What we have discovered changes the course of history forever." Purple Heart raised a palm at the map. "They call this gemstone "Kyanite". The residents believe it is a simple rock to be used in common products, but they do not know of it's true value."

Purple Heart continued. "This mineral contains pure. Concentrated. Share Energy. And there are untapped veins all across the world, ours, ripe for the taking! The competition from the other four nations will be fierce, but we have the power. I am relying on all of you to be ready in four days with your soldiers assembled and ready for battle. D-Day is nearly upon us."

The lights snapped to life, and the sound of chairs being pushed flooded the room. Uniformed officials streamed into the single door in disciplined silence. IF stood up and placed her hands upon the backrest of the chair. She knew she wasn't supposed to leave, and she had several questions of her own to ask her Commander in Chief.

"IF, please remain seated." Purple Heart instructed, and IF complied. The room had been cleared with the final closure of the door, and Purple Heart took a seat across from her. They looked one another in the eyes.

"Iffy-" Oh no she didn't.

"Stop. Don't call me that ever again, Neptune. I've told you that many times now." IF demanded, arms crossed.

"Please stop this… petty angst of yours. I've come to you because I need your help."

"Petty angst? Is that what you call it? You know how much I detest your policies."

"Just this once IF. For old times sake, please hear me out."

After a pregnant pause, IF huffed. "Since you asked so nicely, I'll hear you out. Then I want you to hear me out. Deal?"

"It's a deal." Purple Heart smiled.

IF set her arms down on the table, shifting in her seat. "Well?" She asked, impatient.

The Goddess spoke. "I know how much you're not going to like this. Plutia had me babysit P-ko for a while here in Planeptune. We couldn't decline such a request from a friend, but you know how busy Nepgear and I are."

"You let Peashy down into the military headquarters of Planeptune?" IF said in a mixture disbelief and anger.

"This was a very secret affair," Purple Heart waved off the transgression. "no one had any knowledge of this affair except me, Histoire and Nepgear. As I was saying, I did bring her down. But unfortunately, I was so preoccupied that P-ko had happened to have wandered off. Now, this wouldn't have been an issue-"

"Pfft. Wouldn't have been an issue." IF mocked, glaring at the leader of Planeptune.

The victim remained unfazed once again. "P-ko had wandered into the science ward." She sighed. "As we were preparing for a strike on Earth."

"Alright, alright. How long ago was this all?"

"Just yesterday."

IF was stunned. Not only was her country attacking another world as an aggressor, but she had no knowledge of any of this! Did her rank mean nothing? And an attack between worlds requires extensive planning. How long ago did they know of life on Earth? She deserved to know, didn't she?

"I'll cut to the chase." The Goddess leaned in closer, folding her hands upon the surface of the table.

"You're the only one I can trust to go in after Peashy. It is very dangerous down there, and it is paramount that we save her before the people of Earth find her. If they get any advance warning, we may not stand a chance against them."

"Just how much does Peashy know?"

"Enough to ruin the element of surprise. You see, the population of Earth is far higher than that of ours. We must have every advantage, and for both Peashy's and Plutia's sake, we must rescue her."

There was no way IF could decline such a request, not with so much on the line. And she still considered Peashy a friend, so there's no way she could leave her to a bunch of savages.

"I'll get her out." IF nodded lightly.

"Good. Now that you've accepted, I need to tell you one last thing." Purple Heart let out a sigh of relief. IF knew that sigh was fake, there wasn't a chance in hell she would refuse a quest of this nature.

"You see, over on Earth, there is a massive abundance of Share Energy due to the Kyanite, which we believe is just about everywhere. Humans from Gamindustri aren't affected by Shares here, but over there, there is no place for the Energy to go. That means-"

"I'll be taking in Share Energy?"

"Correct. Everyone who travels there will, at least unless a Sharicite is introduced. Our abilities will be enhanced tenfold, giving us a massive boost to our power. This is both a blessing, and a curse, at least for you."

"And why would that be a bad thing?" IF asked.

"It will be easy to expose power. And in the case you do screw up, you are not to allow anyone to discover our existence." Purple Heart ordered without hesitation. "Is that clear?"

IF quivered. "Crystal, Ma'am." They locked eyes for a long time

"Now that that's all over with, you're leaving now."

"What?" IF uttered in surprise, and Purple Heart lept to her feet.

"No! I just want to ask you one last thing." IF said, holding her position.

"Hmm? Speak your mind."

"Neptune. You've been in that form for too long. It changed you."

"And your point is?" Purple Heart placed her hands on her hips.

"N-nothing."

"Now, down the the science wing. Let's go, Commander." She marched to the opened door, and beckoned her into the hall. IF snapped to her feet, pushing the chair in, and hurried to the Goddess's side.

* * *

" _Power-up commencing. Estimated time to activation- twenty seconds._ " An automated voice projected into the brightly lit room, echoing on the high ceiling.

IF stood smack in the center of a large transparent dome. Scientists scurried about, making final adjustments on the transportation procedure. Lights flickered on screens tended by specialists, each attempting to make the process as safe as possible. Purple Heart stood right before the sole entrance to the dome, peering into the bowels with a studious gaze. Her arms intertwined behind her back, eagerly awaiting the initiation of the mission. This was not the first time this machine had transported living beings between dimensions, but it was still recent technology and prone to errors. The device roared to life as the countdown passed ten seconds as opposed to a gentle hum, causing IF to recoil in surprise.

"You'll be fine, IF. Remember what you're fighting for." The Goddess shouted to the Wind Walker of Gamindustri.

"Yeah, I would be fine if I were a little more prepared for the occasion!" IF yelled back.

"When you arrive, you should be able to track her using that tablet. Don't lose it, or you'll be on your own!"

"Yeah yeah, I got it!" IF was given a phone-sized tablet to communicate back and forth with Planeptune. It was black in color, and could pass as a smartphone on Earth. She had tucked it into a pocket within her coat. Not only that, but she was also given a small rectangular backpack to hold a single set of causal Earth clothes and enough food to last a single day. She was quickly instructed to find necessities locally as to not arouse suspicion with her products.

However, she also was allowed to bring a handgun with her, along with her signature katars for defense. Or to silence any potential threat to the mission.

Purple Heart smiled. IF frowned.

And in a spectacular flash of light, and a magnificent bang, she was gone. The transportation was successful.

Purple Heart turned around. Standing before her was her own beloved sister. Looking just like a schoolgirl, and letting her hair drape over her shoulder, she appeared very out of place. And she acted like it too. She had only come into CENTCOM once before, and she didn't like it one bit. Fidgeting nervously, Nepgear stepped closer to the CPU.

"Are you sure about this, sis?"

"Of course. Not that to doubt her loyalty," The Goddess looked back, over her shoulder. "But I have my suspicions. The mission must be carried out, and you must make sure it happens."

"Didn't you say that it was… hostile there?"

"It's nothing you can't handle. You're strong, I have confidence with you." Purple Heart said with confidence.

"O-okay!" The CPU candidate nodded. "I think I'm ready."

"I know you're ready. When you're there, don't forget to check in every so often!" Purple Heart brought the candidate into a hug.

"I will!"

"If you have any doubts, just know this is for the future of our country, and for each other. I'll see you in four days!"

The sister separated, and Nepgear picked up her own white colored backpack.

She stepped down, and into the the center of the dome. A black cross marked the spot, and she pivoted with her heel on it, looking back at her sister with longing.

"You will be okay, sister."

"I know, I have my weapons to defend myself!"

The automated voice sputtered to life. " _Power-up commencing. Estimated time to activation- twenty seconds._ "

The machine began to hum, and then it began to roar. The scientists watched nervously, keeping the machine in optimal conditions. And then she was gone, leaving behind only a spectacular flash and a brilliant bang.

* * *

"Ugh, that sucked. I feel like I'm gonna throw up. Where am I?" IF struggled to her feet, only to slip on the slippery cement. It was snowing, and she examined her surroundings.

An alleyway, and right in front of her was a wide patch of open ground. She could smell the familiar scent of warm pastries mixed in with the smell of snow and street. Not a single sound could be heard, only the stillness of twilight welcomed her ears to the new world. The girl pulled herself off the ground, brushing off her coat once on her feet.

She rubbed her arms as goosebumps began to form. She needed shelter quickly. Luckily, on her right there was an entrance to the building, and she meandered over to it. She peeked through the window mounted on the door, but the building seemed vacant. Completely dark, with the exception of a skylight sending a lonesome stream of light into what appeared to be a kitchen.

The set her hands on the doorknob and pulled. Locked. Didn't even budge. IF took several steps back, and braced herself to strike it down. She broke into a dash, and thrust a foot out forwards. The door cracked under the pressure and was blown right off it's hinges throwing pieces throughout the kitchen.

The girl stepped into the building, in awe at the robust system of stoves and ovens. This was a bakery, at least until it was abandoned. Not long ago it seems, as a shallow pile of snow had accumulated beneath the skylight. It was broken, with glass scattered across the ground. Footprints could be seen molded into the snow, but even those seemed relatively recent.

Suddenly, the a beep emanated from the tablet, breaking the silence and alarming IF. She reached over and pulled it out, revealing a GPS map of the area. A red dot indicated her position, and a yellow one was Peashy's. She was quite a ways away, almost ten miles.

And the sun was setting too! There was no time to waste. Peashy was nearing a town, and towns were full of people! She'd stick out like a sore thumb, and it's only a matter of time before something happened to her. She had to rescue Peashy!


	5. Chapter 5

Jeez. It's been the longest day of my life, and believe me, I've had a lot of long days.

We made it downtown as night set in and the streetlamps flickered to life. As opposed to my hometown, this place does have electricity. Vehicles are abandoned in the street with haste, as their headlamps shine brightly down the road, engines still humming in the dark. Traffic lights jerk violently in the harsh wind, directing traffic that will never come. The freezing snow showers down in sharp torrents, the wind propelling the frigid particles far and wide, severely increasing the mortality rate for anyone trapped out in the ruthless cold.

The three of us entered a tall apartment complex on main street. The place was covered in goo. The walls used to boast a calming brown coat. But now, ceilings, walls, and bottom sides of tables and furniture, have been defiled. Nothing spared, as if the creatures molded themselves around everything in a desperate effort to catch their prey. Most of the rooms we passed on our way to the top floor were just decimated, and it really scared me, no matter how much I wanted to hide it. People died here. These rooms were their graves.

We're lucky we found a clean refuge on the top floor. After a quick assessment we discovered that the bathroom still had running water, and the kitchen area in the corner was still stocked. To me it feels weird, taking shelter in someone else's home. It looked like someone had just left the room to use the restroom or something, if you ignore the broken down door and splotches of goo on them.

After an investigation of the entrance, a scene played out in my head. The owner of the home had heard some commotion in the morning, and paused making lunch to check out the hallway, hence the messy countertop. And as he got close to the door, the monsters burst through right in his face. He got dragged outside by them and thrashed around, knocking over a small table and pulling on the rug before losing consciousness. He fought until his death, and in my eyes that says a lot about him. Defiant until the end. I hope I'll do the same, but I'm far too much of a coward.

Right when we made the decision to stay, Peashy went straight for the bedroom with limp arms and an exasperated sigh, gently hanging on to her doll. I don't know what she's up to, but I have some ideas. It might be best for me not to intrude. She's a tough girl for her age, that much I can tell after the short time we spent together. I could also see she was really scared. She never strayed too far from my side, and was startled by just about every little noise on our way here. I mean, I'd be scared too if I just popped into an foreign place without any idea of where I was or what was going on.

To the left of the front door was a tiny kitchen, still messy from the previous tenant's lunch, a long marble countertop separating it from the living room. A bedroom was inserted next to the kitchen, and the living room occupied the rest of the space. Straight across from the entrance, on the opposite side of the apartment, was the restroom. It wasn't a big apartment, but in no way was I complaining. Hell, I would've settled down in the lobby despite the cold.

I placed the bag of food and the rifle on the countertop and turned around, noticing Owen lazily flipping television channels on the couch. He hugged his bag like it were a pillow, and I stepped over to him, careful not to trip over any pieces of the front door on the floor.

"Hey, you're in the way. Scoot." Owen snapped.

"Oh, sorry." I stepped out of the line of fire. "What's on right now?"

He sighed. "Look for yourself. Absolutely-fucking-nothing."

I arched my neck behind me, and sure enough, the only thing on the screen were re-runs of old television shows. It flipped to an episode of Spongebob Squarepants. Owen kept searching, ignoring the quality entertainment.

He waves the remote in the air with disgust on his face. "It's like none of this ever happened. Like life just went on. Fucking hell."

"Oi! Go back one." I ordered. Owen rolled his eyes and complied.

Spongebob and Patrick were messing around with vacuum cleaners and laughing. I couldn't help but smile. The last time I'd seen this episode I was with my mom, curled up together on the couch...

"Dude, you're such a fuckin' child." He yawned, stretching his arms out wide.

"Oh, come on! You need to quit swearing like that, there's a kid in the other room!" I urged, eyes on the screen.

Owen didn't respond. He threw his arms out in desperation. He ruffled through his bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Ima smoke one. I'll be on the balcony if you need me."

"Dude-"

He ignored me, shuffling over to a door in the corner. I hadn't noticed it, but there is in fact a balcony. Just before he exits through the door, he tugs on the base of his jacket, and pats his pockets.

He faces me, looking drowsy.

"Hey, you got a lighter on you?" He shamelessly asks, pointing his finger at me.

"You said you quit last week so I got off your back. And now you're asking for a lighter? The hell is your problem?" I hiss.

"Fuckin-" He swings his arms out in a brief expression of anger. "You said the same thing last week, just let me live my damn life! You're not my _mom,_ dick." He stomps over to the kitchen and runs a hand through each of the drawers until he grasps his prize. He reaches onto the counter on the wall and picks up the shotgun. Squeezing the lighter in one hand and his weapon in the other, he marches right out the door and onto the balcony.

What an ass. I wonder why I call him a friend sometimes. He gets a new issue each year, and just this month he started smoking. Last year he started sniffing markers to get high, and it took far too long to get him to quit. He's not the type of person your mother would approve of you hanging around, and he makes that clear on the surface to anyone who doesn't know him well. I try to get him to open up at school, sometimes introduce him to other people, but he doesn't make it easy for me, avoiding me for days after realizing my intentions.

Come to think of it, we became friends during elementary school because of a promise. After school ended one day, we were waiting at the kiddie playground for our parents to pick us up. I was on the swings at that time and he was sulking behind them. I decided to go and talk to him, cause that's what school says nice people are supposed to to and in no way did I want to not be a nice person. And just as I got off the swings, his dad came around the corner. He was a big man and looked all gruff and angry. Not what school says are good people. So I climbed onto the play structure and just watched as Owen's dad grabbed him by the arm. Owen resisted, so he was pulled right off his feet. I was the only one watching at that moment, and I had to do something. I jumped down, ran up the the father and gave him what for. And as you would expect, it backfired immediately. I got pushed back and onto the ground. They left without a word, and that's when I saw fear in Owen's eyes.

The next day Owen approached me during art class, and told me not to tell anyone. Since he looked like he meant business, I promised I wouldn't tell a soul. But in return, I made him promise to let me talk to him whenever I want. Ever since that day I kept on pestering him, and eventually he opened up to me. It soon became him talking to me whenever he wanted to.

There's a good person deep down inside him, and he just doesn't know that. I hope he realizes that, but it doesn't seem likely.

* * *

So he's gone, and I'm left with a crying child in the room next door. That means she's volatile, and I don't want to provoke her into beating me up. The fact that she's a power ranger doesn't confuse me as much as it did when I first met her. I'm too tired to question why or how she can do that. I guess it just kinda happens.

I flop onto the couch, and align myself with the screen. I have an issue with not dealing with what needs to be dealt with. Laziness and procrastination are some of my specialties, despite being a track runner. For example, our best bet to getting out of here alive is to meet up with the military. So we need to find out where the military is in the first place. Another goal of mine is to get Owen back inside and not smoke. That one might be a bit tricky, considering he brought the shotgun out with him. Finally, I've got to prepare food for us so we can eat. Owen can't cook for shit. I'm pretty good at dropping noodles into a pot and calling it spaghetti, but that's just about it. Just thinking about all the crap I got to do makes me anxious, and I set my gaze on the exposed front door. That makes me very uncomfortable.

"Screw it." I murmur to myself, sliding off the couch.

It would be great if we could get some sort of barrier up in the doorframe, but I can't quite figure out what we could use. I'm not skilled with a hammer, but I've seen Bob the Builder. Come to think of it, making a door seems like too much of a hassle. We're probably going to move out in a day or two. Anyways, I could tack a curtain up as a buffer against the draft. I could snag a curtain from another room, and maybe some staples as well. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea!

I step out into the hall. To my right in the hall, there's a small outcropping in the wall where the stairs are. It's relatively far away, so I feel safe enough to wander the halls without fear of an ambush. The sickly blue goo gradually slides down the walls, and some bits drip off lamps extending into the hall from the ceiling. I walk over to the room opposite ours, careful not to burn myself in any puddles of the acidic goop.

This place has been devastated. It used to have the same color walls as the rest of the building, with the scenery fitting that of an old-timey elderly couple, complete with an aged rocking chair in the corner. The table in the center of the room is flipped on it's side, and the couch has been torn into bits, pieces of fluff stuck to the walls with the goo. An old square television has also been split down the center, and half of it lies in a puddle of goo. My target is the purple curtain on the other side of the room, still intact and pristine after all the destruction that happened here. Once I reach my target, I reach up and pull the curtain off the pole it was hanging on, exposing the alleyway between this building and the next. I ball up the curtain, and examine the surroundings. The outdoors look pretty rough, as snow continues to hammer the earth without a shred of mercy. The filth of the alley has been blanketed in a layer of white, illuminated solely by a lone lightbulb mounted on the side of the building next door. We might still be getting snowfall tomorrow, this looks like quite a big storm.

As I'm right about to pull away from the glass, a brief flash of movement catches my eye. Up above me and to the right, from the roof of the other building to mine, like the leap of a gazelle but only much faster. Too fast to be human, and that long of a jump wasn't possible for any person I can think of. Was I hallucinating? Doesn't seem unlikely noting everything that happened today. But maybe I wasn't hallucinating. I could've sworn it looked like a person. Chances are, that was just a new type of monster we haven't seen yet. Hell, didn't the radio talk about floating whales attacking Boston? We could be in for a rough ride.

I back away from the window cautiously, scanning the ceiling and listening for any sounds of movement. I stand as still as a statue for almost a minute. Not a sound could be heard except for the wind buffeting the street. Too quiet for my liking. But then again, nothing has been to my liking today.

Retreating back to the room we claimed as our own, I pick up the fallen table and place it beside the door. I pack the curtain tighter into a ball and set it down gently on the new surface, holding out a finger as I back up like you would to a dog to order it to stay. Now, there's a good chance the stuff I need can be found in the kitchen. At least, that's where my mom kept the staples. Tape could be useful in lieu of stapes if there are none.

I turn the corner and start rummaging through cabinets. The drawers by the frige are for utensils, and the drawers below them have big cooking utensils. I continue to search dutifully, causing a racket as metal clashed against metal.

Doesn't look like the previous tenant kept supplies in the kitchen like I did. Eh, it was worth a try. But according to the previous tenant, the cupboards in the kitchen are a fine place to hide your collection of "busty blondes". Not that I'm judging or anything, but those magazines are easily accessible and visible behind glass bowls.

 **BANG!**

" **Ack! Fuck!"**

A gunshot rocks the room, causing me to clutch my ears from the sudden noise. My body jerks upright, and then I immediately scramble for the rifle on the countertop. That was hella startling! The shot came from the balcony, and I recognised Owen's voice. That could only mean that Owen is in trouble! I jog around the counter only to encounter an alarmed Peashy impeding my progress.

"Hey! What was that all about?" She asks angrily, wiping her eyes with a finger.

"Uhh… not now Peashy!" I hop around her and keep running. I make a sudden stop on the ground and spin around. "Stay right here, I mean it!"

She gives me a puzzled look with her face, and brings her arms down to her side. I can only hope she complies, whatever out there might've killed Owen.

I jerk the door of the balcony open, letting in a gust of cold air. Stepping outside, I hastily slam the door shut behind me. In the distance a few lights glimmer faintly against the dark horizon, and the tiny outline of skyscrapers marks the city of Boston. To my left, Owen stands hunched over, shotgun primed towards the edge of the roof. A shotgun blast scars the edge where he points the gun.

I pull the bolt of the rifle back to double check that my weapon is loaded, which I should've done a while ago. I pull my black beanie down over my ears, shuffling through the snow on the ground towards Owen. He snaps the gun in the opposite direction of me and stands up.

He screeches through his teeth, grinding on a cigarette. "There's a person fucking with us on the roof!"

What?

I pat him on the back. "There's no one on the roof. I'm positive. Calm down before shooting at the wind, willya? Keep that up and all the monsters in the area will find us."

"No, no, I'm serious!" He spits out the putrid stick into the snow. "I heard footsteps nearing the edge, and a chunk of snow fell off the roof!"

"You're just paranoid, come back inside. It's wicked cold out here!"

"Fuck it-" He snaps, and pushes me back. "Inside, let's move it!"

Stepping back from my friend, I reenter the building. I close the door behind Owen, and I rub my cheeks in an effort to warm up. We trail in a bit of snow off the porch, but that doesn't matter. Peashy isn't where we left her.

"Damn it!" I swear under my breath. "Peashy!" I yell, sprinting for the doorway. I push my head through the doorframe and look around. No sign of the girl. I curse again and step into the hall.

Instead of panicking, I just stop moving. Owen comes to my side, but I just hold a finger up to his face. She couldn'tve gone far from here, so maybe I could pick up her movement via sound. At first, all I can hear is Owen's rapid breathing. He's got a tight grip on the shotgun, and's got his head on a swivel. I focus into my task, holding my breath.

Right down the hall, past the stairs, two people are fighting. Their voices are hushed, and I can't make out what they're saying at this distance. I can tell they hid in a room on the right side of the hall, and I look back at Owen with a straight face.

"I think I found her. Stay here, come get me if something goes down." I whisper. I hold my palm up to motion him to stay, in case my point didn't come across to him. He's a stubborn pain in the ass, and can't stay quiet for shit. He sighs and waves his arms up in surrender.

Nodding in agreement, I begin my descent to my possible doom. One foot in front of the other, it becomes a tedious and painstaking pattern. I don't know what I'm up against, and if it's the same thing that made the jump from the other roof, then it might be a power ranger superhuman or something. It's the most probable scenario, and if so, I might be screwed. I blink and rub the uneasiness from my eyes, but it doesn't seem to work.

Once I reach the edge of the room, I bring the rifle up to my chest. I look back, and Owen stands in the doorway of our room with a skittishly tense face. Like a cat, his legs are primed and ready to sprint to my aid in case something goes wrong. It's fairly reassuring. I turn back around and listen closely.

" **For the last time, Neptune is really worried about you. I'm here to bring you back home, we** _ **really**_ **don't have much time!"**

" **No! It's super duper fun here! I don't wanna go!"**

" **UGH, I'm taking you whether you like it or not. Right now."**

" **NononoNONONO! Let me go!"**

Peashy yells, prompting my entrance. I turn the corner, rifle raised aggressively.

"On the ground, hands on your head! Do it now!"

I push into the room, a living room for an artist. White walls lined by multiple paintings, now dirtied with goop. A low couch is pressed against the wall on my right, and in front of it is a low glass table. On top of the table is a flatscreen TV, but between it and me lies Peashy, getting picked up by a girl a little older than me. She has long brown hair that almost touches the hem of her blue jeans. Her blue jacket doesn't quite fit her, as her hands barely poke out enough t manage to grasp the yellow-clad child. But what catches my eye the most is the holster affixed to her thigh.

Her eyes are wide open as she stands like a deer caught in headlights. Peashy's dainty form is recklessly thrown over the girl's shoulder, swinging her legs and arms around in a futile attempt to escape from her kidnapper.

I stand five feet away from her, and my eyes are glued to hers. The gun is still pointed right at her face, dangerously close to Peashy's body. I don't want to risk hitting her in case I shoot, but hopefully the bullet will just bounce off like last time she got shot.

"Easy now, just put the girl down." I say with a reassuring tone in my voice. "No sudden moves, okay? Just let her go."

The kidnapper scans me with her eyes, most likely evaluating my skills. I mean, that's what they do in movies, so it's as good a guess as any. And whenever someone does that in a move, they're probably gonna attack. I take several steps back in trepidation, and pull the rifle up to eye level. I'm ready to shoot if things get out of hand.

You know, I'm pretty good at human psychology. Understanding people is a really handy talent to have, but I've never really exercised the skill. Right now, it doesn't take an expert to know this lady is ready to pounce. Her eyes are locked on mine in a hard stare, lips pressed together with tremendous force. Her brows are twisted at an angle and the skin between them are forced together in a vertical position.

I've never seen so much hatred in a human being, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared shitless.

She finally speaks. "Alright." Her lower lip flashes upward for a fraction of a second with a twitch of the eyes. I bet she can smell the fear radiating off of me. She's gonna fucking kill me!

"Okay, okay…" I whimper. Peashy is slowly lowered to the ground, and the vicious woman pushes her far to her right. Peashy whimpers and picks up her doll, bringing it up to her chest. The doll smiles right at me with it's dinky little eyes, D-pads waving in the arms of the child. My eyes are set on the stupid grin on it's face, and I don't notice the daggers extending from the wrists of the girl.

"H-hey now! I just wanna talk! Just talk, alright?" My grip on the gun gets shaky, and a bead of sweat slides down my cheek.

"Yeah, we can talk." She says slyly. Her knees are bent, and she doesn't seem at all fazed by the gun in my hands. Worrying. "I've been itching for a fight. Entertain me."

"Well, f-for starters my name's Nathan! If you'd like you can call me Nate?" I try and smile at the end, but it just looks really awkward on my end. Not good.

She stays silent, smirking. That's even worse. A smirk indicates a strong sense of superiority, so she must regard me with a grain of salt. If I can't find a way to humanize myself, I'm a goner.

"Uhh…" I can't think of anything to say! She bends down at the knees, and fully extends her blades. "A-hey! I think I got some chocolate back at the apartment. Maybe Peashy would want some?"

Peashy jumps up at the sound of her name and chocolate in the same sentence. She hobbles over to the lady and tugs on her coat. "Can I please have some chocolate? I'm hungry! Please?"

"Not now!" She pushes away Peashy with the back of her fist. The child has other plans, and walks right back to the aggressor's side.

"C'mon please? Nathan has good chocolate!"

"No! Stop that!" The angry woman pushes Peashy back again, and this time she stays put. Peashy crosses her arms and glares at the girl, displeased in every sense of the word. I step back again and again, until I'm standing right in the doorframe. Out of the right corner of my eye, Owen stands with the shotgun drawn against entrance. He's got a tense smile on his face, and nods at me. I just flatten my lips, knowing what's about to happen.

"Your time is up, _Nathan_." She scowls, and leaps right at me, weapons drawn. I saw it coming a mile away and sprung to the left, right out the door.

She lands on the other end of the entrance and in the hall rather gracefully. She spins around rapidly, and faces me lying on the ground. She lifts a dagger-weapon above her head, poised for the kill. Instead of getting a face full of stab, Owen pulls over to my rescue. He shoves the shotgun forcefully right into her right temple and squashes the trigger.

 **BANG!**

The girl stumbles over and falls face first onto the ground. Owen pumps the shotgun, and the spent shell clatters on the ground. I bring myself to my feet, using the gun as a crutch. Before we're able to give each other a high five, I suddenly notice the distinct lack of brain matter and blood following a shot to the head.

"That's what you get, fucking _bitch!_ " Owen exclaims triumphantly. I sidestep over to Owen's side, and place a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, no, no no no!" I mutter restlessly and push Owen towards our apartment. "Run!"

The girl begins to stir, her body gradually recovering to its feet. I can _smell_ the wrath radiating from her rising form.

"Peashy! Run!" I yell into the room, and she complies. Peashy grabs the back of my jacket, but I push her forward. "Let's go!"

" **YOU! I'm sending you all straight to HELL!** " The girl's bloodthirsty voice ricochets through the hall.

"Holy fuck!" Owen cries in terror. "What the ass chEEEse!" He yells, making a chaotic beeline for the door.

Peashy isn't moving no matter how much I push.

"Oh, c'mon Peashy! We're gonna die out here!" I plead.

"No one threatens my friends. Not even if it's-" I cover her mouth in the middle of her dramatic speech.

"Just run!" I sweep her off her feet and scramble for the relative safety of our apartment. The brown haired villain stomps heavily on the ground as she dashes for my exposed back.

"Hyaaa!" She cries, jumping into the air, weapons extended.

I slip on the ground, accepting my fate. My arms are thrown out forward in an attempt to alleviate the damage done to Peashy, but I can't see her or anything else for that matter. It's gotten so bright, and I close my eyes to shield them from the glare. My chest slams against the ground, knocking the wind out from under me, and the rifle clashes against the floor.

"F-fuck!" I wrap my face within the confines of my own arms, unable to move or think clearly. My head just… Damn it! Everything just burns!

By the time I can think again, the hall is quiet. I turn over and onto my back. Propping myself on a arm, I wipe my eyes with my free hand.

Peashy's done it. She's gone super saiyan! Is that good? Probably!

The girl has been pacified. Peashy has her pinned against the wall with a hand, and it doesn't look like she'll be relenting any time soon. A huge indent has been made in the wall where the girl is pinned, and cracks extend all over the wall and ceiling. Jeez, that's a strong grip!

"Say sorry!" Peashy bellows.

"Ugk…"

"Say it you meanie!"

The girl spits out a bit of blood. "Is this what defeat feels like?" She sighs. "I'm sorry, P."

Peashy doesn't loosen her grip. "Now, say you're sorry to Nay-than and Owen!"

"...Sorry."

I do everything in my power to keep myself from bursting into laughter. Oh, how the tides have turned!

The yellow-haired superhuman arches her dead around to look at me. Her orange eyes pierce whatever soul I have, and she smiles.

"Do you have anything to add, Nay-than?" She asks innocently.

I scoff. "Yeah." I rise to my feet and step over to the girl. She's not having a good time at all. She's pinned by her _neck_ , and she can't move her head at all. "What's your name?"

She rolls her eyes, and then looked at the ceiling. After a moment, her expression transitions from a frown to a smirk. I wonder what's going on in her head. She looks down at me.

"It's IF."

"If?"

"IF- just-just let me down Peashy, I'm done fighting."

Peashy smiles. "See? All my friends are friends now! Yay!" And with yet another brilliant flash of light, she reverted to her normal form. She giggles and leaps onto IF, who's kneeling on the ground and rubbing her neck. Taken aback, she collapses onto her side, and tries to rip the blonde fiend off of her.

Owen steps into the hall, clutching the shotgun. He eyes the pile of people with unease.

"Is it safe out?" He asks.

"Yeah, yeah." I say, confident.

He smiles, and I smile.

I turn back at the girls, and Peashy is having a field day attacking the previous assailant. I know how deadly those attacks are firsthand. I would pity her, but then again she tried to kill me. It's funny how quickly people change. Just five minutes ago she hated me, and now she's fine. Is there some sort of prejudice in the background here? There's no way she'd hate me so much just for harboring her friend. In fact, I'd be thankful.

Whoever this "Aieeff" girl is, I just hope she doesn't go for the throat again. With Peashy here to keep her in check, maybe she'll play nice. And the fact that she is also a superhuman means a valuable addition to the group. Maybe this armageddon won't be so bad. But not on an empty stomach.

"Ey, who wants overcooked pasta!" I exclaim to the group, raising an arm high into the air with a grin.


	6. Chapter 6

**Only Americans Eagles are in the Sky. Why?**

 **Soldiers of Japan in the Philippines**  
 **Ask yourself how many Japanese planes you have seen in the sky in recent weeks.**

 **Why have they disappeared?  
Are our planes ever challenged when they roar in the sky above you? **

**What has become of the wild eagles who were trained to protect you?  
Who has domination of the air above you? And have you not heard your Gumbatsu spokesmen say that whoever dominates the air will win the war?**

* * *

"I'm pretty sure you add salt to pasta. Right around now." I say, stirring a pot of noodles in the kitchen. Owen lazily grips my left shoulder with his right hand. I wince a little as he tightens his grip, my shoulder feels sore after the explosion on the bridge.

"You don't add salt to everything, asshat." He quips. "You know, why don't we add some spice? Pepper goes great with everything. Here." He picks up a pepper grinder off the counter and holds it in front of me, as you would if you were trying to show someone a video on your phone.

"Pepper? With spaghetti?" I push the pepper away from my face. "That's ridiculous. Go and watch TV with the others or something, I can handle this on my own."

"Says the one who doesn't know how to cook for shit."

"Yeah, you're the one who through the box off the balcony."

He crosses his arms. "If you know how to cook you wouldn't need the damn box."

He gives off his trademark smirk, and steps back. He pulls the ushanka thing off his head and tosses it haphazardly behind him, the hat landing beside the shotgun lying on the countertop.

"Hey," I ask. "How many shots you got left for that thing? The shotgun."

He peeks back at the two aliens on the couch briefly, and leans in closer to my ear so our guests won't hear. "Only one." He whispers uneasily. "We've got your rifle and that lady's pistol if we need it. Speaking of which, is that girl our captive now? We can't just let her off the hook for what she did, y'know."

"I donno. I was thinking we let her go off with Peashy, they seem like they know each other. They can handle themselves." I say, trying to sound confident.

"Dude!" He whispers. "They've got superpowers or some shit, we can't just let them go!"

"Can we even keep them here?" I respond. He gives me a blank stare in defeat. "Thought so." I turn back to the pot of noodles, giving the pot another vigorous stir. Steam bellows towards the ceiling as the boiling water gently rumbles around the stirring spoon. It's two whole boxes of noodles. I hope it's not too little, but when my mom cooked pasta in the past, one box was more than enough for the both of us.

"Look," He nudges my shoulder with urgency in his voice, bringing me back to reality, and I snap to him again. "Something's not right with her. Twenty bucks on her slitting our throats in our sleep." He says without blinking. "Hey, I've got a feeling."

"That's…" I turn my head around to the couch like a hawk, and spot IF sitting with Peashy sprawled across her lap, the blonde's eyes glued to the screen. IF notices my stare and tilts her head in my direction rather cutely, smirking. Her neck is a little purple from the strain put on it by super Peashy, but there isn't so much as a bruise left where she got shot in the head. "... preposterous…" I murmur, bringing my gaze back to the pot of noodles.

"It's makes perfect sense. You're far too trusting, Nate." He scolds, turning around to watch the others.

The water's starting to foam, so I blow air into the pot, causing the bubbles to ease back into the pot. The steam condenses on my face, so I take my beanie off my head and use it to wipe my face. Once finished, I toss it behind me carefully onto the opposite countertop, beside Owen's hat. I reach over to the dials and turn the heat down slightly. I don't know how long I'm supposed to cook for, but I'm pretty sure it's almost done. Call it chef's intuition.

"Go and talk to her, who knows, you might just make a friend." I tease, rummaging through the cupboards for a colander. I grasp a plastic strainer from the shelf and place it tenderly in the sink.

"Fuck you." He snaps back. How grumpy. He folds his hands atop the marble surface, back arched away from me.

I turn off the heat on the stove and turn to my friend. "Hehe..." I grin. "Maybe she likes you."

He shrugs off the statement.. "Quit messing with me, go pray to your spaghetti god or something."

"But I ain't messing with you, here, look." I pull up next to him, and we turn our attention to IF. Her full attention is fixated onto the television.

I don't know the name, but it's a movie about slavery in the United States. Not a documentary, but a live action movie following a slave's escape to the northern states. I think it's important to know about our history so we can learn from our mistakes, but I don't know if this topic is exactly appropriate for Peashy. But hey, who am I to judge? I played my first shooter game at ten years of age.

"You know when she looked at us earlier?" I wrap my right arm around him, speaking into his ear, observing the outsiders.

"Yeah."

"Well, when she looked at you, her pupils were dilated. That means she's attracted to you."

"You can't just spot something minor like that, you're lying to me."

"Not in the slightest." I pat him on the back reassuringly. "Go and talk to her, I bet she likes you."

He smiles and then brushes off his coat. I pull away from him and turn back to the pasta. I wasn't lying when I say that dilated pupils indicate attraction, but the real reason why her pupils were dilated were because of the low lighting in the room. I've noticed that the best way to get Owen to talk to people is for him to either like them from off the bat, or think they already like him, even if it has to be an affectionate type of like. It feels a bit wrong to trick him like that, but I need him to be friendly to everyone here. Who'd actually fall in love with someone at first sight? I hate cliches like that, so phony. Love is overrated, and at a time like this, there are more important things to deal with. Like pasta.

I grasp the handles of the pot with both hands and lift it gently into the air. A sudden surge of faith fills my veins, beckoning me to prayer, and I begin to chant ever so softly as I bring the pot over to the colander.

"Our One Creator Which Flies and is Spaghetti and a Monster, I believe Thou art the Creator of Goodness and Nourishment, and of Sustenance. I thank the Pasta, and the Sauce, and the Meatballs, for they provide me all my needs. **R'amen**."

And with the final syllable, The succulent pasta has slid right into the colander and out of the pot, steam from the scalding hot water dissipating into the heavens, or in this case the ceiling. Surely the great noodled one had heard my prayer and blessed this food. Maybe it's overcooked. I put the pot down onto the stovetop and use a fork to lift up and examine a strain of the tender goodness. Hmm. Maybe it's undercooked. I place the tip of the noodle on the edge of my lip and slurp down the mouthwatering string. Ah. Al Dente.

Alright, now we have edible food. Maybe it just tastes good to me because I'm the one who made it, but maybe it was the Flying Spaghetti Monster. Of course it was him, he must have heard my prayer! Just the thought that the FSM listened to me brings a nice, warm swelling unto my chest. I take four sizable bowls out of the cabinet and place them on the countertop beside Owen. He walks away from the countertop and towards the couch, finally standing upright against the wall beside the couch, allowing me to serve the food. I turn to the shelves below the surface and search for anything resembling tongs. After rummaging past other miscellaneous kitchen utensils for a minute, I can't locate the item I need. Instead, I pick out a second fork and scoop up large chunks of noodles, placing them into the bowls. I gave Peashy less than the rest of us, only one scoop. We still have a lot of noodles left over, so if still have any extras we can eat it tomorrow for breakfast. And even lunch, if we're still in the building by then. Although we still have plenty of food here, my knowledge from watching movies and playing apocalyptic video games tells me that food runs out fast.

I stick a fork into each serving of dinner, but then I realise something. Pasta kinda sucks when served plain! I pop open the fridge and pull out a half-eaten jar of tomato sauce. Should still be edible.

I face the group, speaking. "Alright, stay seated, I'm bringing the food to you guys." I hold the chilled jar in one hand and a steaming bowl of noodles in the other, gliding gracefully over to the couch. The table in front of the couch is a little low, but it'll do fine. I place the jar of sauce in the center of the table, and set the bowl before the brown-haired girl. I do hope it pleases her just enough to persuade her not to kill us in our sleep. She looks down at the noodles expectantly, but then perplexed at the jar of sauce. She raises an eyebrow at the sauce, as though it were an alien interloper. As I turn back to get two more servings, Owen tosses his body down on the couch, right where Peashy's feet end. Peashy sits up at the sudden impact, and shifts acquisitively on the couch, much to Owen's discontent.

"I'm starving! Noodles? Aww… I want eggplant!" Peashy crosses her arms in protest. IF jolts at the sound of eggplant and freezes temporarily before enveloping her arms in an embrace around the younger girl's shoulders.

"Shh…" She mutters, "none of that P-ko, none of that, right?" She looks up Owen over Peashy's head, eyes wide.

Owen brings a hand to his head in confusion, and looks at me. I grin at him as I swipe up two more bowls off the table. "Yeah?" Owen bleats, totally swept away at the sudden change in character of the girl. I put a bowl in front of Owen and give Peashy her serving. She frowns at the sight. He obviously isn't pleased at her special treatment in portion.

"Hey… why do I get less than Owen? Or IF? No fair!" She bellows, shaking off IF's arms. IF tries to hush Peashy again.

"Well…" IF scrambles for a response, faltering in morale as Peashy starts to squirm.

"Well!" I pipe up, sitting down on the edge of the couch next to Owen with a bowl in hand. "It's because you're still a young girl! Your tummy is smaller than ours, so it doesn't need as much food to fill it right up." I pat my chest for good measure. She still isn't pleased.

"I'm not a little girl! I'll prove it!" The youngest member of the group leaps to her feet, towering above our heads on the couch. That was a bad move on my part.

"Oh shit!" Owen shrieks, and immediately interprets the blonde's statement. He grabs the girl by the legs and just as she begins to glow, tosses her haphazardly towards the kitchen.

And after a loud thump is heard and the light fades, super saiyan Peashy emerges off the ground, glowing eyes brimming with contempt.

"I'm a big girl!" She folds her arms under her breasts to emphasise their existence. "Gimmie big girl noodles! Or else!"

I'd rather not test her, especially when none of us can subdue her childish rampage. And so, I give in. Not a hard decision, at least not now, when the sanctity of our dinner is at stake.

"Peashy, Peashy," I stand up with my arms raised in surrender, after placing my bowl on the table. "I'll get you more noodles, no need to get angry over it." I dawdle over to the rest of the noodles in the kitchen area, bringing another fork over with me back to the table. I give her a second scoop of noodles. She glares at me, and I give her third helping before returning the food back to the kitchen, and myself to my seat. Now, she seems satisfied with her expression. Without transforming back, she sits back down between Owen and IF. The older girl blushes and pulls the ends of her coat together, flustered.

I sit back down with caution, and begin to consume the noodles. Sauceless.

Peashy triumphantly picks up her generous serving with glee, and shovels the spaghetti into her mouth. IF and Owen pick up their servings with no intention of eating. Both have their eyes fixated on different objects. Out of curiosity, IF speaks up about the object she is most bemused by.

"Hey, what's that red sauce on the table?"

"The pasta sauce?" I respond. Peashy slurps a forkful of noodles into her maw and burps rather childishly. Neither of us pay it any mind.

"Yeah… what's a tomato? And the sauce." She reads the label of the container.

"A tomato is a vegetable. And this sauce is used with noodles. It's really good, but unfortunately it's cold right now. You've never heard of tomatoes?" I shouldn't be surprised she doesn't know what a tomato is due to her probably being from out of this world, but I don't know what's similar between us and what's different. She knows what eggplants are, but not tomatoes apparently. So yeah, I guess tomatoes are something new to her.

"No, never. I'd rather not try any, though." She shudders, deep in thought. She turns her attention to the television, which had been running this whole time. It seems to be nearing the end of the film, as the slave had arrived in Philadelphia accompanied by some rather cheery music.

"Suit yourself." I shrug, taking a bite. After chewing, I notice Owen still engrossed in an uncanny gaze. It's almost as though he's in a trance, whatever he's looking at must really have caught his attention. I've never seen him quite like this before, so I move my eyes to match his. Oh.

I reach over and pinch his arm, and he snaps to me with a strong jerk and a goofy grin.

"Quit staring." I scold, and scoop a second morsel into my mouth.

* * *

We've finished eating a while ago, and Peashy reverted back to normal while Owen washed the dishes. We didn't talk much during the duration of the meal as Mega Peashy was in the way, thoroughly blocking effective communication between the intelligent members of the group. However, while Owen was reluctantly doing his assigned chore, I had a chance to talk to IF about our current situation.

The way she was talking was obviously stressed like she was hiding something. It must've been a big thing, because I shook her hand before and after the talk and there was a massive heat difference between the start of the conversation and the end. When the temperature drops in the extremities- by that I mean the hands and arms, that means that the blood is being pumped to another area of the body, namely the legs. This happens because when someone is unnerved or frightened the body is instinctively set to fight or to flee, sending more blood to the legs in preparation. So short human body lesson aside, she was not content talking to me.

She did tell me, however, that Peashy was a special person. A Console Patron Unit, or CPU for short. They are special people who can transform and use all sorts of super abilities you'd find in a comic book here on earth. She also said that she is also a CPU herself, and warned me not to mess with her. The way she spoke told me she was lying, though. But then again, I don't want to risk messing with her in the first place. Common sense told me that. Even if she wasn't one of the CPU people, how was she practically invincible? I didn't ask that question, but I would've loved for it to be answered.

She was apparently sent alone to find and bring Peashy back to her home, and that we would be killed if we tried to stop her. That scared me. Not that we could be killed if we tried to stop her, but that her statement was a lie. I observed her shrugging involuntarily and shaking her head, signs of unconfidence and disagreement with what she was saying, respectively. I don't know what she really means about that last part, but I'd rather not tangle with a superhuman.

She didn't comment on the dogoo attacks. I felt very intimidated at this point, so I just smiled and shook her hand. And yeah, it was very cold. She must've been more nervous than I was.

I brushed my teeth after Owen, shaved quickly, and now I'm sitting on the couch beside Peashy, who is watching Pokemon on the TV (Insisting on calling the show "Pocketed Monstrosities") thinking of sleeping arrangements. Owen will want to sleep on the couch, I'll cocoon myself with blankets on the living room floor, and IF and Peashy could sleep on the bed together. I like that arrangement because not only will Owen and I get decent sleep, but IF probably won't due to Peashy. We'll be safe from getting stabbed. Probably. Whatever, I'm much too tired to think straight right now.

My whole body is sore, and I'm seriously mentally scarred- no matter how hard I try to push my thoughts and feelings away. I just hope I won't get nightmares tonight. Who am I kidding, my mom's fucking dead. Maybe if I stayed home today I could've protected her. Fuck, I can't do shit! I would've died, I'm so pathetic. I bet I would've just ran from the scene, letting my mom die, I'm such a coward.

"Nate, you alright?" Owen asks, genuinely concerned. He stands in front of me with his hands tucked in his pockets, blocking my view of the TV. I didn't even notice my hand folded over my cheek. I look like a sad excuse for a person.

"Yeah, I'm cool." I say softly. I have to push through. For my mom's sake. For all those people who died. Fuck. "Just a little stressed, that's all."

"Good. I'm going to smoke in the hall, be back in a sec." He says, heading for the door. I notice his cigarette pack in his hand. Maybe I should be more like Owen. He's a tough fellow.

I extend my arm in defeat as I clamber off the couch. He turns back with a frown, hearing me stir. Without any shred of morality or regret, I speak. "Can you spare a cig?"

Owen winces.

* * *

"Vulture-One you are being retasked to assist Callsign Goliath as they advance on break, grid follow, niner-seven-four-six-two-six-one-two, I repeat, grid niner-seven-four-six-two-six-one-two, how copy, over." The headset of Vulture-One-One's pilot crackled to life over the pumping sound of the Apache helicopter's rotor.

"Vulture-One copies, over."

"Pilgrims Highway must be secured at all costs, Vulture-One. You have been cleared to engage all hostile entities en route to the target location. Godspeed, out."

Vulture-One-One's pilot switched frequencies to hail the other Apache in the squadron, Vulture-Two. After filling in the other pilot with the new objective, he tugged gently on the flight stick. The massive metal beast rotated, pumping louder and faster to accommodate the stress. Satisfied with the degree in which he had moved, he reclined in his seat, slightly groggy at the hour of being deployed. Thus satisfied, the pilot turned his head to his left, into the cloudy winter sky.

The sun had long since gone down, and still the world was very much awake. His night vision was hampered by the light coming from flames scattered indiscriminately from torched buildings in the suburban landscape. He hovered past concrete roads covered in snow, each path a monument to human achievement. Much of the country had lost power in the initial attack for an reason that baffled his superiors, leaving large splotches of land covered in darkness. The world was painted green. And this world, this green world wasn't some terrorist-laden land a continent away, no. This world was his homeland, the place was the place he was sworn to protect. The pilot gritted his teeth in angst.

"Vulture One, Vulture One, this is Vulture Two. Eyes on a group of twenty-plus dogoo entities southbound bearing two-three-zero at seven-five meters, how copy."

The pilot of Vulture One snapped to attention and peered at the thermal reading of the direction of the gunner's azimuth. The gunner aligned the M230 Chain Gun to the bearing 230, and just two degrees left at 75 meters was a group of dogoos. They appeared as white dots on the screen, as it was set to have black, hot and white, cold. Over the course of the day they learned that Dogoos were slightly colder than the ground around them, despite being in a frozen environment. The pilot speculated that that was the reason how they maintained their gelatinous shape, but he was most likely far from being correct.

"Vulture Two, I copy. Visual on group of dogoos advancing along avenue. Breaking to engage hostiles, out."

The dogoos were moving rapidly along a snowy street, over cars and around other obstacles. A female civilian was being chased. The civilian was decently far away, around 20 meters away from the horde, but the pilot was still concerned about collateral damage. He pulled the stick towards his chest, eventually stopping the aircraft and gaining altitude. Once at a stop, he steadied the aircraft.

"Gunner target those dogoos, Hellfire."

"I got eyes on."

"Lead off with the Hellfire, follow up with the 30 millimeter."

"Yeah, ready to engage."

"Vulture-Two, we are engaging."

The gunner fired one missile. An audible swoosh was heard before the sound dissipated into the distance. The missile left behind a brief trail of smoke, which grew rapidly as the missile got further away. The target was struck, and a massive fireball erupted from the spot where the missile hit. A devastating explosion echoed across the town, reaching the forests in the distance.

"Good hit." The pilot spoke. Several other smaller explosions rocked the road as a handful of other cars detonated from the hit. "Whoa, secondaries. Fire cannon."

The gunner fired the chain gun in a quick burst of four rounds.

"Fire again."

The gunner squeezed the trigger, firing another set of death. The shots from earlier hit the ground, sending puffs of snow into the sky. The buildings shook as the rounds impacted. Most of the snow was long melted by the initial hit, but the some of the dogoos were still moving.

The second series of shots landed, finishing off the remaining hostiles. They exploded into blue sparkly shards, leaving no trace they had ever existed.

"Good effect on target, I'm bringing us around."

As the helicopter turned, the gunner still had his camera trained on the devastation. He hoped the civilian was okay, but not much survives a hit from the hellfire. In the midst of the smoke, something caught his eye. A figure in white with pinkish wings stood atop destroyed car. Then, somehow, the figure began to float. The gunner was not a religious person, and was simply baffled at the sight.

"Hey, check it out! Back at the road, unknown contact!" He cried over comms.

The pilot peered through the monitor, and saw the figure. He too, had no words for the person. Could it be an angel? The pilot dismissed that idea. He was a good Christian man, and he couldn't believe his own eyes. There had to be an explanation for this.

The figure raised their arms, revealing a large rod. He couldn't make it out due to poor visibility, but there was something very peculiar about it. It almost seemed to glow, like something purely supernatural. But that couldn't be. No matter how he thought, he just couldn't explain what he was seeing. A loud explosion rocked the world, and then everything went black.

* * *

 **Do you like the way the story is going?**


	7. Chapter 7

**Japan's greatest joy is to give you the complete Independence by defeating America, yours and our common enemy.**

 **Always bear in mind that Philippine Independence was made possible by the life and death struggle which Japan is now waging at a tremendous sacrifice.**

* * *

IF laid wide awake in bed. Her body was fully clothed with the garments from the day before, and her eyes were fixated on a single spot on the ceiling, barely above the single light bulb planted in the center of the surface. Peashy had curled herself into a ball, clutching the Planeptune Commander's left waist with an iron grip. The blanket was pulled all the way up to the older girl's chin, and Peashy was completely enveloped beneath the covers.

The bedroom wasn't well furnished, with only a single dresser opposite the bed, and a digital alarm clock planted on an end table to IF's right.

In bright red numbers it read: 01:12

She had settled down around 10, but her thoughts plagued her to no end. Those people, Owen and Nathan, was it? They weren't what she expected the people of earth to be like. Not after all the nasty-sounding information that Purple Heart had provided her. Of course she hadn't seen any people aside from them in this new world, but to IF's knowledge, people tend to be the same within a community. So that means that they might just be the exceptions. In Planeptune, absolutely everyone attended the monthly military parade and agreed with Purple Heart's word. Actually, after scouring her mind for a while, she remembered a peculiar person she had met at the Guild, before it was shut down. After a long day of work, IF returned to the Guild to collect her pay, but a woman a little older than her caught her eye. Just like IF, she had just completed a quest. On her way out of the building, IF overheard her talking to someone about how Purple Heart was full of baloney, that the great bound forward program that was recently enacted was doing more harm than good. If thought that was preposterous, but restrained herself from responding. The woman told her friend that she would be back at the Guild the next day when the Guild opened to meet up for another quest, but when IF came back the next day there was no trace of her or her partner. They must've gotten sick or something. But aside from that one exception, everyone was quite similar.

IF needed to follow her orders. Those two had to die, they knew too much. This time, this time she'd do it quick and clean. Earlier, she was much too sloppy and let her anger get the better of her. Peashy couldn't be allowed to interfere either. Perhaps she could send Peashy back to Planeptune and finish her business here… yeah, that should work. Tomorrow morning she'll update Planeptune CENTCOM and be done with it. But until then, she needed to sleep.

But were these people really as bad as they're made out to be? What's going to happen to them? And what about the other countries of Gamindustri? Will they notice Planeptune's actions in the new world? Despite all these persistent questions nagging her relentlessly, IF eventually drifted into a shallow slumber to the staccato beat of gunfire in the distance.

* * *

Damn. I'm never going to smoke ever again. It was simply a terrible idea. Seriously. Just thinking about fumes makes me gag.

I'm glad I got some sleep, but now that I'm awake, I've noticed it's actually much harder to fall back asleep than it would be. I mean, it doesn't feel right to sleep in another place like this now that I think about it. I know it'll pass, but that thought doesn't make it any easier in the slightest. I'm fully dressed with my blue jacket zipped up to my neck and my black beanie wrapping over my ears. Combined with the fluffy blanket I'm curled up inside, I doubt you could find a setup more comfortable than mine. Of course, it's possible that a big bean-bag bed would be nicer, but I've never been graced with the opportunity to try one out for myself.

Owen is out like a rock. His snores are definitely loud enough to hear from miles away. Maybe the military will hear his snores and find us, but that's unlikely. But it's not wrong to hope. Eh. What up with me right now? It's like when you're half asleep and your thoughts are running rampant, all sorts of dumb ideas start popping into your mind that don't make any sense. And at the same time your mind is wickedly hyperactive, turning all the shadows you see into monsters and the noises into footsteps.

For me, I'm hearing gunshots. Just one. Than another. A rhythm that never ceases, one that just comes back again and again and it makes me anticipate the next gunshot in the cycle, driving me insane. Like the ticking of a clock. And then again I bet those aren't even gunshots. I bet it's just my imagination in all seriousness. I've played tons of Arma 3, and I have really good headphones to go with it. I'm not trying to brag to myself or anything, but the sound settings on ultra are orgasmic. Hey, if I think hard enough then those gunshots are sounding like footsteps! I knew it, my mind is playing tricks on me.

If I concentrate harder, which I know I shouldn't, they're starting to sound like squishy plops that you hear when you drop a bunch of jelly or putty on the ground. No, actually, it's more like a smack. A smack that you get when a hamburger patty is thrown on the ground. I actually haven't heard a patty smack a surface before, but the sound is what I'd speculate it to sound like in my head. But no matter how many things the sound turns out to become, the pattern is the same. A fast paced repetition, like feet in a sprint.

Come to think of it, it sound like a lot of pitter patter splats all at once. Is it raining? It couldn't be raining, it's much too different of a sound. I know what rain sounds like against a snow covered surface, and it's not possible for this to sound like rain. And besides, it was just snowing, it's not warm enough to support rain! But still, it's seriously peculiar. I hate how I don't see what I'm hearing because now my head is trying to picture what I'm hearing with disastrous results. I don't know about you, but I don't think it's possible for a bunch of squids to march down main street in the snow.

What the fuck, I'll just check it out right now. Just to put my mind at ease. Before moving, I try to rub the sleep out of my eyes, but to no avail. I push myself out of the burrito, like paste squeezing out of a toothpaste tube with a great deal of effort, and finally rise to my feet. It's dark in here, but I'll manage. I don't want to wake up Owen with any light. Now out of the cocoon I tug my shoes on, then my gloves, and now I'm all set. The balcony is merely a stride away and once at the door, I twist the handle as stealthily as I can manage and slip out into the night.

It's cold. A strong gust of wind takes me by surprise and I almost lose control of the door. I pull the door shut behind me as I squint against the snow being thrust in my face. I'm glad it's finally stopped snowing, but the wind keeps picking up the loose snow off the ground and into my face. Ignoring the snow in my face, the obnoxious and alien sound is much stronger now. Examining my surroundings, a crossroads far to my left catches my eye (and ear). A row of cars sits in the distance, piled high with snow.

I wouldn't be able to make anything out if it weren't for the streetlights lining the street. They cast a dreary glow across the derelict landscape, making the already depressing scene even worse. And now I can understand why I couldn't identify the sound earlier. It was a horde of Dogoos!

Fuck. They're chasing someone down! A human with long lavender-colored hair dashes across the tops of the cars as if she were in an action movie, and with great grace and virtue she screeches like a little girl. Now that the image that was being made was thoroughly ruined, I know I have to do something. But what can I do from all the way up here?

"Hey!" I cup my hands over my mouth and yell with all my might. "Over here! It's safe over here!"

I might've just sentenced everyone in the block to death right then and there. I plunge an arm deep into the sky and wave. I think she noticed me because she stopped screaming. And another thing, I don't know if I'm hallucinating or not but she appears to be jumping ten or so feet with each bound. It's insane! I'd be damned if this was another superhuman.

The Dogoos are starting to fall behind as the girl pushes herself to what might be her limit. I can feel my heart pumping even though I'm not doing anything physical, and I can hear Owen stirring to his senses through the wall. You know what? I should go out and help her down there! I'm no use to her up here.

I barge through the door, tracking snow into the apartment, and make a break for the rifle. Owen is rubbing his eyes lazily on the couch. My entrance startles him, but I don't pay attention to him. I scoop up the gun off the kitchen counter and swipe up my backpack before rushing out the door. I had some magazines in the outer pocket and I bet they'll come in handy.

My feet stomp down the ugly carpeted rug and down the staircase at the end of the hall. I hold the gun close to my chest as I reach the ground floor. Then I storm out the entranceway, Pulling the butt of the gun to my shoulder. Peering down the sights, the image of the girl draws close, with the Dogoos further away. I don't want to risk accidentally shooting her so I lower my weapon and beckon her to the door.

And once she gets almost twenty feet away from me a roar pierces the night. In the distance, a glowing object races towards us at breakneck speeds. I hardly have time to register the object before instinct takes over.

"Oh shit!" I exclaim, falling onto my chest, burying my face into the snow. And they say video games are useless.

The earth cries out in a horrific display of pain. The very ground below me rumbles and shakes as the world collapses before my closed eyes. I can't hear anything but pure, unfiltrated death, and death is inexplicably loud.

A second passes without violence, but then the rest of the world begins to die. The cars ignite their engines in the worst possible way, sending chunks of flaming debris crashing into my back and into the snow. I can't feel anything but tension and shock right now, so I don't know the degree in which I was hit.

It stings. It seems like I was slapped with a big fat brick right on the lower end of my spine. Whether that means I'm in one piece or not, I can't tell.

And then the ground shakes once more, but it beats to the sound to thousands of fists with the intent to kill. One barrage, then another. Then it's quiet.

I don't want to lift my head. I don't know if I'm alive. No, of course I'm alive! I need to get off the street, now. But the girl…

I push my chest of the ground with a pair of shaky limbs, and prop myself on one arm. I use the other to wipe the grime off my face. I arch my head over to the epicenter of the chaos, and see a realm of smoke and fire. The street is pushed and shoved off the ground in ways that it never should be naturally. As my senses return to my tiny, insignificant figure, I see her. But it's not her. It's someone else. Something else.

It has to be a Goddess. Lush pink hair captivates my eyes, dancing like graceful angels to the beat of the flames circling a petite white-clad girl. At her back she had a set a magnificent pink wings. They baffled me in every sense of the word. I don't know how to process this. It's like my mind had just stopped working. I face death, and all I can sense is this moment, the apex of my life.

She floats, her toes inches above the ruined earth, as if her touch was not worthy enough for it's presence. In her right hand she wields a magnificent white saber. It radiates death. Graceful, yet taut death. She levels the weapon with her eyes, and with a triumphant shout of wrath she explodes in a bounty of color.

And another tremor shook the earth, and then it stood still. Time was trivial now. She turned to face me, and I don't think it was possible for me to fully comprehend what was happening. Every fiber in my body told me to run, my fight or flight instincts taking over. I kicked with my feet against the ground, trying to escape her hollow gaze, bearing down onto my back. Her eyes were those of the Greek Sirens. I kicked and kicked, but only stirred up pieces of cement and snow. I flipped over onto my back with the last morsel of strength I had, and pointed the rifle at her forehead.

And I yelled as best as I could, "Get the fuck away from me!" But it was a cry of fear, one of a cornered animal. She doesn't belong to this world, and an unknown with such power I can only see as an enemy, a human predator.

And she blinked. And I shot her.

And she winced, expecting pain, but miraculously there was none. She scowled at me with deep, deep contempt. I bolted my defence once again, and pulled the trigger. Without thought I bolted again, and again, and again until I could only emit a chilling click from the useless weapon. I panicked, and it had cost me my life.

"O-oh fuck." I spat, but it was more of a sob than I'd like to admit.

I gasped for air, but I just couldn't breath. The rifle slipped out of my fingers and onto my chest, where it kept sliding down my legs and onto the ground. My fingers and arms were completely locked in place in front of my chest. I can't breath. I can't move.

"Nathan!" Owen came running to my side, fear littered his voice. "Snap out of it man! C'mon!" He shook my shoulders frantically. I could feel my arms again, and my legs and my head and my feet and my-

He slapped me straight across the face, almost comically. It was pretty funny. Okay, I'm okay. I shuddered, a chill running down my spine.

I put my arms behind my back and pushed into the melting slush, getting myself back onto my feet. This isn't any time to panic. What was I doing?

I can see Peashy hiding behind IF. IF is wearing her bag, and has a hand hovering over her holster in a threatening manner. They're both standing right next to that flying person. They appear to be perfectly fine, although IF's hair is quite messy. In any case, I do hope they're both okay, it's not really healthy to be woken up in the middle of the night like this. The flames of the missile impact start to waver down in strength behind the motionless trio. Oh man, I bet that both the pink haired girl and IF are both in this together. It's actually kinda obvious, of course they are. What does that mean though? Oh right.

"Nepgear…" IF muttered, a tinge of confusion present in her voice. "Head back to Planeptune with Peashy. I'll finish up here." IF nods, and the now named Nepgear person also nods in agreement without a word. IF looks a bit tense at the appearance of the CPU, but whatever issue she has with her is her problem and not mine.

"Nepgear, what are you doing here? Did you come to meet Owen and Nathan too?" Peashy asks innocently as Nepgear takes her by the hand. The pink-haired girl just smiles at her. Then she looks at me, and furrows her eyebrows. The white-clothed girl picks a bag off the ground, one similar to IF's, but much more roughed up and damaged. She retrieves a tablet from the interior of the pouch and holds it out in front of them.

Us humans have a thing in our brains that is able to measure what is rational and what is not. So if something happens that isn't rational or normal, like seeing a person be suspended in mid air or see people get shot and be perfectly fine, then your mind starts to cramp up. And for me, seeing two people slowly disappear like they're the masters of some twisted magic act tops the list of irrational things. To put it lightly.

"Hey, what's happening?" Peashy exclaimed. She held her free arm in front of her terrified face. "What's happening to me? Hey! Nay-than! Help!"

"I-" I opened my mouth, but couldn't say anything. I didn't want to cry at my own sick helplessness.

And in a matter of seconds, they were gone. Just like that. Who cares about the 'no matter can be created or destroyed' rule because they just fucking vanished. It happened so fast. I had only known Peashy for less than a day, and I had already grown attached to her. What just happened? What did I do wrong?

IF drew her pistol out of it's holster. She sighed softly with her eyes clamped shut. She pressed her gun up to her chest, deep in thought.

And just then I knew we had no time left. I have to act fast. My ammo is in the side pocket of the bag, on my left. Owen is out of the way, but that just means she'll have more time to spot me moving and react. And I don't doubt her reaction time is much quicker than mine is. And to make matters worse, ammo doesn't do anything to her at all. Fuck. We're screwed no matter how you look at it.

She extends her arm at Owen's head. Her finger slithers around the cold, black trigger like a snake.

"I have to admit, you two people were the strangest people I had ever met. And I know a lot of strange people, mind you." She smiles at the thought with closed eyes, but then frowns again once she looks back at us. "You're all just a band of disgusting people. And if you're the exception, than it's a very sad exception. I can't say that I'm sorry about what I have to do."

"Hey." I speak. She shifts her gaze over to me. "Don't call us disgusting."

"Why not?" She seems amused, having us at gunpoint.

"You'd be a hypocrite."

"Wha-" She jerks back, flustered. "You're ridiculous."

Owen smirks. "We're dead men, IF. What do we have to lose?"

IF points the gun back at him. "Don't try me. I'll kill you both, easy."

I can't maintain a steady fist, my hands are so sweaty. She swaps her gaze between the both of us nervously. Her fingers holding the handgun fidget up and down awkwardly.

"Okay then…" Owen exhales. "What are you waiting for? Kill me already. I've had a terrible life, I'll tell you that right now. I really don't have a stable future in store."

"Look around us, IF. It's a _dead_ world now. Do you really think it would be worth living in a _dead_ country like this? You'd be doing us both a favor, IF." I chastise, putting emphasis on death.

"You're the good person here, right IF? We're just a band of disgusting people. Go on then." I conclude, Inching towards the enemy. She wields a face of confliction, as though she didn't expect us to give in so easily. But hopefully she's stuck in the heat of the moment, and doesn't notice what we're doing.

And as she starts to really falter in strength, behind IF I can hear the rotors of helicopters drawing closer. I might be hallucinating, but if not... that must be the military!

Her ears twitch when the sounds become more prominent. The girl turns to face me, both arms raised to her chest as opposed to aiming with her pistol.

"Damn it!" She shoves me harshly, and I stumble and crash into a car door, shattering the window and leaving a sizable dent on the door. Luckily my legs catch me from falling, but I might as well have collapsed right then and there. It feels like I just got hit by a truck!

"Oh, fuck you!" Owen cries with fury and charges forward with his fists. IF instantly thrusts a fist straight for his forehead, and when it collides Owen crumbles to the ground by her feet.

I crush my eyelids together. I open them again and the murky snow by Owen's head turned red, stained by a shallow gash between his eyebrows. I can't bring myself to keep looking and I push my depleted eyes to face the enemy. Can I fight back? No, no I can't. Not against her. Owen, he's the brave one. Perhaps he's a fool. Courage like his just gets people killed, and I'm a lazy guy. My arms feel so lazy, and to move my fingers is such a chore. Just laying against this car feels so relaxing, it'd be a huge pain to get up.

Now content with her primary success, she steps over to me, towering over my limp and desecrated body. Her hands grip the pistol with so much strength that I can see her knuckles turn white. She raises the gun high above her shoulder, like you would for holding a baseball bat. I can't explain why, but I'm starting to shiver. It's funny, I'm not feeling cold in the slightest. Or is this what they call trembling? Oh, what the hell's the difference?

Time slows down as her hands come down on me.

The scent of the air is pleasantly chilling, like you'd expect from a winter day.

The fires have died down, but the impact on the winter wonderland remains. Much of the cement is covered in a layer of slush, and the cars are scarred black from numerous burns blemishing much of their bodies.

I can't clench my hands tighter anymore than they are now, but If I could they would be bleeding. My body tenses together.

And suddenly, I can think clearly again.

* * *

What has she done?

IF looked down at Nathan's limp body. His eyes are closed, and his arms sit at his sides as though he were just taking a short nap in the late night. Is he dead though? She could check his pulse, but she can't bring herself to touch neither Nathan nor Owen again. It felt so wrong to hurt someone who wasn't blatantly evil like Arfore or that rat back in Gamindustri. Was it the right thing to do? She didn't want to think about it. It was for her country. For her homeland. These people didn't matter to her, even if they did forgive her for attack them and all. _Everyone else_ , she told herself, _everyone else must be horrible like they're supposed to be_.

Down the road behind her, she could see a massive behemoth sitting still above the tallest buildings, beside a fiery smokestack coming from the side of a building. It definitely saw her, but even if they thought she was a normal earth human, she still had to disperse.

IF scurried into a nearby alleyway and pulled her tablet out of her bag. She was confident no one was left who knew about Gamindustri, and that meant her mission was successfully completed. But just as she was about to start the teleportation sequence to bring her home, she looked up. Her surroundings were so alien, such towering walls of concrete was totally unknown to people back home. This architecture had it's own charm about it, much like the mushroom themed architecture Lowee has. She found it captivating.

And Nepgear…

What was she doing here?

Did Purple Heart not trust her enough to finish the mission? Nepgear was bound to be more trouble than she was worth. It would've been much better to send a separate agent on the mission rather than the CPU candidate. So… What was Purple Heart's motive?

Strange. IF would never question authority back home. Thoughts like hers could be considered unacceptable if she didn't hold such a high ranking position. Of course criticism was acceptable, but not of Purple Heart's law. Maybe she would stick around. Maybe, she could apologize to the two people she just incapacitated. The thought of redeeming herself was especially appealing to her. Besides, they aren't telling Gamindustri's secrets to anyone, not if she was holding them captive.

But would they accept her apology? She shuddered at the thought of her apology being rejected. They should be more inclined to hate her after everything she had done. And even if she did spare them, what would she do then? Would she have to hand them over to the occupying armies or could she just release them once word of Planeptune spreads across the earth? That's a problem for later, not now. Speaking of now, now she better inform CENTCOM what she is doing.

After thinking for a moment on how to start, she wrote a detailed report of what had happened to her so far and her reasons for staying. She said that she was going to do more reconnaissance as an excuse.

Now that her message was completed and sent, she needed to salvage the bodies of Owen and Nathan. She inched her way back towards the street, but noticed something very peculiar. As she got near the sidewalk, she crouched down behind a dumpster.

While she wasn't looking, soldiers had discovered the bodies! She couldn't engage. If she did, then she'd be discovered as a non-earth human, and have to kill everyone there. So she grit her teeth and listened.

"Sergeant Sanders, this kid's alive! Get me a stretcher!"

"Corporal, get that kid back to the Bradley. What's the status of the other?"

"Uhh, let me check." The first soldier waved down a man with a collapsible stretcher, and together they loaded the boy up and away. Another soldier shuffled through the snow and stopped beside a second body. He sighed. "He's gone. Looks like a cranial blow did him in, this huge gash on his forehead."

"Damn."

"I'll get the body bag-"

"Wait, not right now. Let the medics do it when they come through, the Bradley's cramped up with enough bodies as it is. Just… lets go Corporal, back to the squad."

The Corporal got back to his feet and jogged towards the Sergeant's voice, away from IF.

It looks like Owen got left behind. After around ten minutes, IF darted out from within the alley and over to Owen. She scooped up his body and started out for the apartment building from earlier. There's a chance that her medicine from home could revive him. She hoped it would.

* * *

Lastation had become the world's leader in industrial manufacturing and exports an excess of goods across Gamindustri. And that one achievement has made Noire very proud. But it isn't enough. She want's to be the world's leading exporter now and forever. To do so, she needs to either make her factories more efficient or clear more land for more industry, and clearing more land is much, much faster.

So in an effort to streamline progress, both her sister, Uni, and Noire herself are working side-by-side to complete a stack of papers. Imminent domain sure comes in handy, but the process to relocate the rural population takes a lot of time and effort. So to make the arduous task less straining on the mind, they decided to work on the balcony of the basilicom. They're lucky it's not windy today and the sun is shining blissfully. The balcony is a wide semicircle outcropping made of slabs of stone and concrete, completely exposed except for two comfortable beds that look like the chairs people tan on at the beach, and a long table near the center of the balcony.

It's a silent work time, as they review individual plots of land for industrialisation and people for resettlement. The light hum of traffic in the Lastation streets are the only noises that reach the ears of the Goddess. That is, until hurried footsteps intruded upon the silence the two Goddesses craved.

"Kei? What are you doing here? I have asked specifically not to be interrupted!" Lastation's Goddess snarked.

"This news is of the utmost importance." The white haired girl rebuked. She placed a manilla folder between the two girls. "I advise taking immediate action. I will be inside the intelligence headquarters if I am needed."

Kei abruptly turned around and left the scene, leaving behind a very curious duo.

"What's going on?" Uni piqued, reaching for the folder.

"Not so fast, Uni. I'll tell you." If this issue was important enough for Kei, her hardworking and loyal oracle, to disobey her direct command then this must be a matter that requires immediate attention.

"Let's see here…" Noire pried open the archaic folder to reveal a cluster of confidential documents. "What?!" She shrieked, shocked by the wealth of data.

"Hey, hey! Noire!" Uni snapped impatiently. Noire studied the papers hastily, taking in heaps of information.

"Fine, just read it for yourself." Noire thrust the folder into Uni's hands. Her eyes greedily scanned the papers within.

"Oh no, this really is serious." Uni muttered, still scanning the page. She flipped to another paper, and her eyes widened at what she saw.

"No duh, Uni!" Noire berated, shooting up to her feet. "Get up, we're going to to Kei." Noire marched off towards the interior of the Basilicom, leaving behind a flustered CPU candidate and a pile of unfinished work.

"W-wait!" Uni shut the folder and chased after her sister. "What are we going to do? Strike them first?" The younger sister was visibly distraught at the thought of attacking their neighbor. Despite Noire not allowing Uni to meet with Nepgear, Rom or Ram, she had been doing so in secret. The last thing she wanted to do was fight a friend. But her country was the best, and it had to stay the best, no matter what.

"Have I taught you anything, Uni? Neptune has made the first move. If this intelligence is accurate, then by the time we reach Planeptune's capital they'll have recovered these 'Kyanite' crystals and be unstoppable. I have some ideas."

"Like what?" Uni asked, working hard to keep up with Noire's fast walking pace.

"Well, just now I think that we need to send out soldiers out first; secure those kyanite mines before Neptune gets her grubby little hands on them." Noire pushed open the double doors leading into the Basilicom and kept striding. Uni slipped through behind Noire and scurried back to her older sister's side. "Then we can start working from there."

It was a very hasty plan, but it seemed promising for now. Once they arrive at the intelligence headquarters more planning can be done, but Noire had her work cut out for her.

How could that incompetent little brat, Neptune, get her hands on such information before her? This was utterly preposterous. Of course she had known about the new world. Such matters like a new dimension was of no interest to Noire, unless something of value could be found there. And now that the balance of Gamindustri's future lied within that planet's crust, she had to make the first move. And she didn't! This was simply infuriating!

Well. That just means that she would have to work at full capacity to even out Neptune's insignificant advantage. As for the other nations of Gamindustri, it would only be a matter of time before they investing into this situation as well. And when they do, Lastation will already be at the top.

That was a promise.

* * *

 **Now we're cooking with gas...**


	8. Chapter 8

"Come in Charlie one, this is Uniform three dash six, report status, over." A deep voiced man said, radio crackling with slight interference.

"Uniform three dash six, we're moving to your location from the south, two mikes out, consisting of two M2A2 Bradleys loaded with civilian casualties for medivac, how copy, over." The recipient said.

"Uhh, wait one." The older man responded. After a several second pause, he resumed. "No birds available at this time, sorry, negative on that request. All helicopters are either grounded or in use."

"Solid copy Uniform three dash six, out." The younger man confirmed, his voice a bit shaky.

The two Bradley IFVs churned through the unplowed roads in peace as the blissful morning sun greeted a new day over the east coast of America. It was a shallow peace, however it was shaken by the groans and the crying of the wounded and survivors.

* * *

It's been three days. Three days since the monsters shook earth to it's core. Three days since chaos and desperation reigned unobstructed across the globe. By now communications have been more or less reestablished, and the world's governments have recovered to an extent. Emergency relief arrived to areas hit the hardest, and the displaced families settled down at refugee camps scattered outside major cities.

Nothing could have prepared them for the attacks. The evacuation of some cities came too late, leading them to become tombs for those trapped inside due to traffic and snow. And despite catastrophic damages and major loss of life, humans have once again persevered through tragedy and are now more united and strong than ever.

Recovery has slowly begun. The last few monsters were finally being hunted down by the world's military. People were smiling again. It was all over.

Or so they had hoped.

* * *

"Good morning New York City! It's a beautiful day today, with highs in the upper 40's and lows in the high 30's. It should be partially cloudy in the first half of the day, and as the wind picks up we should be left with a perfectly cloudless sky, just in time for lunch! Certainly a much needed break for people all across the east coast."

Lieutenant Hayden stretched an arm forward in the cockpit of his F-15 Eagle, adjusting the volume knob for radio transmission. It was too quiet for his liking, and although he didn't really need to know the weather for today due to him being above the clouds, it helped give him a sense of casual normality on this peculiar deployment.

The weatherman continued to speak about the road conditions and safety hazards throughout the city before starting a segment on the heroism of the New York City fire department over the past few days. Hayden smiled at this, as he remembered how he used to want to be a fireman growing up. He still had a great respect for people in that line of work. He supposed that those emergency personnel are seeing more action that he is, as all he's done is patrol long Island as cyan colored whales have been reported to harass people by the oceanside. He hasn't picked up on any such whales so far, but considering all the creatures that have popped up out of nowhere recently, nothing seems to be out of the question in terms of existence.

Bored by the lack of enthusiasm in the presenters voice, Hayden flipped channels until he settled on a music station he liked. The lieutenant was a picky man, and didn't like any music with too much bass. Or rap. He hated that stuff. Something about it just gave him a headache.

After four minutes of cruising without any interruptions, Hayden realised that he was nearing the edge of his patrolling radius. And so, he applied pressure to the flight stick to the right and towards his chest, slowly turning the aircraft back to New York City.

Hmm…

The pilot switched off the radio as a blip formed on his long range radar. It was not a friendly aircraft, but he'd have to get closer if he wanted to get a better read on this unknown contact. Approaching from the east and over the lower bay of New York, the bogey around a hundred kilometers away, but it was getting dangerously close to the city.

"This is Sparrow Four to New York Control, BRAA, bearing 210, 90 kilometers high…" Hayden began to report the bogey, but was cut off.

"Sparrow Four this is New York Control, Expedite! You are cleared hot to engage all four bandits, how copy, over?"

"Sparrow Four copies weapons free, moving in hot to engage all bandits, over!"

Did Control say there were four targets? No matter. He'll just have to go in and take them all down.

The city skyline raced past him on his right as he prepared to intercept his first target. Concentrating solely on his instruments to guide him to the kill, he swapped over to his AMRAAM medium-range missile. He hoped to kill the bastard with a single missile, and it was definitely possible. These missiles were at the top of their class.

His HUD, a screen sitting atop his instruments, indicted he acquired a solid lock on the target with a continuous beeping sound and a circle with a diamond within it atop his target. He readjusted his grip on his flight stick, breathing steadily. And with a pull of the trigger, he called out with a steady yet determined voice.

"Fox three!"

The missile raced at breakneck speeds toward its target, leaving behind a bright white trail. And after just a four second wait, a fireball sprouted up in the distance. It was a good hit. Hayden smiled.

"That's one bandit, but where are the others?" The pilot whispered to himself.

He checked his instruments once again. No contacts. Then he adjusted his radar scope, and still he picked up no targets. New York Control was very concerned with the appearance of these air targets and he had to track them down.

And out of the blue, his ears screamed as an alarm blared, warning him of an impending missile. Fuck, they were behind him the whole time! Hayden arched his neck to look to his rear as he began to pull up into a 60 degree climb. And there they were, one, two, no, three airplanes. From the look of them, they seemed just like F-16s, but instead of any indicative markings that he knew of, they bore two horizontal purple stripes running down each of their midsections. That was rather peculiar, but there were more important things to worry about than unmarked aircraft.

The missile locked on him wasn't going to give up anytime soon, and he knew it. Hayden activated his electronic countermeasures, and he saw instant results. The missile on his tail spun out of control, completely losing it's lock. Hayden grinned. Now he knew that their missiles were utterly obsolete.

The crafty lieutenant pulled the stick towards him with force, entering a high-G maneuver. This would hopefully get those pricks off his ass. He pushed his thrust to the max, and sped away with a roar, leaving only smooth contrails on his wake. Then to neutralize the blood rushing to his head, he spun his aircraft rightside-up with only the ailerons on the sides of his wings. The F-16s were hopelessly outmatched as they struggled to break off and away from his nose.

Hayden was nearing gun distance with the first plane trying to escape to the left, and he activated his afterburners to close the gap. The increase in speed pushed him against his seat, but he was trained to bear G-levels, so it was of no concern to him. And now within range, Hayden pulled back on the throttle and aligned his nose with the enemy aircraft with a smirk. His HUD displayed the degree in which he had to aim in front of the enemy to score a hit, or in simpler words, his HUD was assisting him in leading his target with a green diamond indicating where he had to shoot. With all that assistance, it would have been pitiful for him not to score a kill right then and there. But he hesitated.

At this distance he could see clearly into the cockpit of the enemy. And his enemy was a young girl. And she was terrified. Her uniform was a green flight suit with purple highlights, along with see-through glass on her flight helmet. Every little detail was getting across to Hayden, and it was frightening. Frightening to see the face of the person he was about to kill. Frightening to know he was about to take a life. In the past such things were trivial, as he had never seen the person he was about to shoot, but this… this felt wrong.

But this was his country. The country he swore to protect. And this woman is intruding on his people's safety!

"Guns, guns, fucking guns!" He pulled down hard on the trigger, sending a wave of armor-piercing explosive ammunition her way. Her aircraft was pelted with a massive stream of death, shredding her metal aircraft and sending chunks across the sky. She was most certainly a goner.

A single burst was all it took as a trail of smoke erupted from her single engine. It burst into flames. He saw her eject as he sped past her, pushing his plane back to full speed. One down, two more to go.

He checked his radar again, and picked them up. They were both far behind him, almost 40 kilometers. They seem to have taken the opportunity to escape to the southeast, into the Atlantic ocean. He won't let that happen, and his AMRAAMs would testify in his name.

He adjusted his course to align himself with the radar contacts. He squinted hard and leaned forward, managing to catch them visually. He established a lock on the next aircraft and pulled the trigger. He fired two missiles in five seconds, and then locked onto the next aircraft. As he established a solid lock, the aircraft he had fired on earlier burst into flames. The second missile he fired was useless and it raced past the corpse of the enemy.

The last purple F-16 banked hard to his left in a last-ditch attempt to escape once more. But it was no use, for Hayden was already locked on.

"Fox three!"

The last bandit was struck down in fiery burst of thunder, and trailed down uncontrollably to the ocean depths.

Hayden let out a sigh of relief, and reclined back into his seat. A grand slam. And he damn sure earned it.

* * *

"My lady, update on the New York mission." A young official in a military uniform approached her superior inside of Planeptune's CENTCOM.

"Well? What do you have for me now?" Planeptune's Goddess exclaimed impatiently.

"Umm… it's unfortunate but we have failed to establish air superiority over Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Norfolk, or Miami, Lady Purple Heart." The official whimpered, fidgeting nervously in her spot.

"Excuse me? Unfortunate? Those happen to be every. Single. Target. Location. And you're telling me that each and every mission failed?"

"Y-yes my lady…"

"My, my…" Purple Heart sighed. "What excuse do you have for me?"

"It seems as though our fighters were completely outclassed, perhaps we need to teleport en masse to fight effectively. But rest assured! Our ground forces are unbeatable, my Lady! We can still strike without air superiority."

"I know that! But it seems as though we must accelerate the process. Do not fail me again, commander."

"Yes my Lady! Without fail, my Lady!" The official left after a low bow. Purple Heart still was not pleased by the major setback. Next time will be different.

* * *

 **I really enjoy writing these shorter combat scenes, so expect more in the future.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Wednsday, Janruary 12th, 2017**

* * *

My face is cold. Real cold. My back is frozen against the ground. I gradually and painfully lift my exposed left hand off the snow and tap my nose, only to recoil at a sharp sting emanating from my skin. I hold my hand right above my face, too frozen to move. The fact that I'm feeling pain means I'm alive, and right now that is the best thing I've heard all my life. As much as I'd like to keep it that way, I can't seem to get up and off of my back.

My eyelids are completely frozen shut, and I almost panic when getting them open, stopping myself from doing anything violent at the last second. I exhale with relief. I could've ripped my eyelids apart if I use too much force. Instead, I bring my rigid hand over to my eyes and start to scrape off any ice that has formed on them. Is it morning already? I don't think I'm still on the street. The ground under my back isn't hard enough to be concrete. It's almost like snow, but it's the hard snow that forms after a few days of just sitting around. After I conclude that I've gotten stuck to the snow overnight, I wiggle to my left and right, cracking the ice-like snow off my jacket and legs. Once satisfactorily free, I sit up ever so slowly and open my eyes. My back makes little crackling noises as I sit up, as though I've been laying still for an extended period of time. And the first thing I notice is that it's dark.

Well, not that dark. I mean it's rather shadowy, but that's just because the sun is just over the horizon. And since it's so cold, I'm also going to conclude that it's the morning. If it were the afternoon it should be a teensy bit warmer, even if just by a little. The long shadows cast their lazy gaze across a vibrant painting encompassing all of me, a beautiful grayscale painting mixed with the brittle brown texture of the towering trunks of leafless trees and short prickly bushes, presenting a stunning forest environment. High above the the snow-bound branches of the treetops is a marvelous clear blue sky. It's quiet. Still too early in the season for the birds to come out.

Several meters away from me, directly in front of my chest is the outline of a road running horizontally, and beyond that lies a gradual dip in the ground. So, I'm on the side of a hill. The revelation of the unpaved road send a shiver down my spine, my mind jarring at the thought of my current situation. I'm cold and alone. My head spins metaphorically as thoughts of dogoos and other monsters creeping up on me fills my head, but after a moment I come back to my senses. My arms wrap around my jacketed chest for just a moment before I bring my hands together and rub them together rapidly. I exhale a deep plume of fog.

My stomach rumbles. It's evident that I'm desperately in need of some sort of nourishment, but I'll set that aside for now. I'm not feeling too weak yet. But now that I'm completely awake, some questions must be answered.

How did I get here? Where's Owen? What am I going to do now? Okay. I need to slow it down. I take a deep breath, exhaling another cloud of the misty air. Take it one at a time.

My eyes wander directly in front of me. I come across a long shallow depression -shaped like me on my back- in the snow accompanied by the deep footsteps of boots. A trail. The snow is as stale as all the snow around me, so I must've been here for at least a day and a night. I guess I was dragged here. But who dragged me? I look to my sides, but no one is here. But then I twist my waist to the left and then look further to my left to find a carcass laying face-down some four feet away to my rear. He bears two wide gunshot wounds on his upper chest, tearing through his US army ACUs and body armor like it were butter. There's no doubt in my mind that the man is dead.

I stare at his body for a while. I can't help myself. His M4 Carbine lies around a foot to his right, just out of reach of his arm. I can't help but think to myself that if that guy, a fully equipped and trained soldier, didn't make it then how could I? Perhaps the circumstances were against him. He was dragging me away from the street, saving my life from an assailant with his last dying breath. I look to the street and see an military vehicle standing ominously still. I think it's a Bradley. There aren't any obvious damage scars that I can see through the trees, but I'd assume something terrible happened.

I kinda want to be like that guy back there. Not dead, of course, but it takes a certain degree of courage to save someone in the face of danger. So brave in the face of certain death. Like, if I were living on my last minute I'm terrified that I'd break down. I want to use my time for good, like saving others like he did for me the way he did, but I don't think I can. If I'd enlist in the army I'd be too terrified to act when I had to. I hope that's not the case though, but I know that it's probably true. I turn my head down at my exposed hands. I'm starting to be able to feel again.

So. That happened.

But where's Owen? He took that nasty blow to the head. If they were transporting the wounded or dead in that vehicle, then I bet they took Owen with them too. He can't be dead. He's much too tough to die by a minor strike to the head like that. Hopefully.

My beanie has become an icepack. It's frozen all the way through, cooling my head down much further than what is considered healthy back home. I bring up my newly warmed hands up to the rim of my hat and pull it off my head, causing my hands to cool down rapidly. I stuff the hat in one of my jacket's pockets, and blow air into my hands again.

Using only my legs, I shift around in the snow and throw myself to my feet. It wasn't that hard now that my blood is pumping again.

Now, do I take that rifle the guy dropped? I part of me feels like that would be disrespectful. After all, that was his gun. But then again he was trying to save my life, so I might as well honor his last actions and use it to help myself. I step back to the soldier's body and bend down over his gun. I extend my arms to pick it up, but before I do I remember something.

A scene from a movie I saw a long long time ago. It might be one of those Home Alone movies, but that's irrelevant right now. What is relevant, however, is that I saw a guy stick his tongue out onto a metal pole and he was stuck there for a long time in huge amounts of pain. That rifle here is made of metal. Will my fingers stick to the metal if I touch it? Maybe it has something to do with water. If it does, then I would happily pick up the gun. But since I don't know, I'd rather not touch the gun. My skin could be in jeopardy.

I feel as though I should do something to honor that man before I leave. I can't exactly bury him. And I'm probably dying of the cold right now as well. Perhaps if I keep the memory of the departed with me, then his memory and sacrifice will live on with me. At least, that's all the corny stuff my mom would try and shove down my throat. I guess she's right though. I kneel down over his corpse with my hands outstretched, about to flip his body and try and see his name somewhere, but I hold myself back. He's probably frozen solid, and as much as I'd like to respect him by learning his name, I'm not really keen on the idea of touching a dead man's corpse. So I step back, almost tripping in the snow, and straighten my back up high. With good posture, I throw an arm up to my forehead in a salute.

I hold it for a moment. I keep the tips of my fingers steady upon the edge of my right eyebrow, even though I almost feel like crying. I don't exactly know what brought me to salute, but it just felt respectful. My now-dead neighbor John was in the military, and he raised his son to be just like a soldier. He taught me a thing or two as well, including how to pull off a crisp salute. But I didn't really have any desire to be in the military at the time, and we just played around with our toy guns and all, pretending to shoot baddies and stuff. Man. I miss the old days. I miss John. I miss my mom. I miss Owen. My salute gets shaky, so I throw my hand back down to my side. I didn't even notice that I had been crying, so I hastily send a sleeve up to wipe the tears. They turn to ice as they soak up into dark blue splotches upon my sleeve. I sniffle a little. Maybe I have a cold.

I turn away from the body, and begin the trek to the street. The snow beneath my shoes crunch as I push bushes out of my path and brush past thin, leafless branches. The edge of the road is lined by a metal guard rail of sorts, so I halfheartedly throw one leg over and then the other to get past. The Bradley sits in front of me as stolid and menacing as ever.

I walk around the perimeter of the vehicle, admiring it's beautiful forest camouflage coat. Surprisingly enough, I don't see any more corpses along the street, so that must mean that they escaped into the woods. There aren't any signs of damage on the right side, but then I turn the corner. Once I pass over onto the other side of the beast, I spot the poor thing's injuries.

They look exactly the same as the marks on the soldier back in the woods. The armor has been torn through by precise bullet-like holes, but something about them don't look like bullet holes. In fact, small arms like the ones used to damage the Bradley shouldn't be sufficient enough to penetrate its armor. I lean in closer to the markings on the vehicle, inspecting the edges of the holes. They look like they've been put under an intense heat. What I mean by that is that the edges of the holes hold the signs of being melted. Wavy protrusions and irregular bumps surround each point of penetration, only reaffirming that they must have been exposed to something much like a laser. But laser guns don't exist, right? And if they did, they wouldn't puncture the armor the way that they did. It would be more messy and with more of those heat-damage marks.

I'm thinking that it must be some sort of new monster that I haven't seen yet. It could be a mushroom person with laser eyes, only that they aren't lasers but seeds charged with some unknown power. Or people with super bullets. Ha. I shouldn't try and make myself laugh.

Something isn't right about this, and it makes me feel very uncomfortable. Like, really really uncomfortable. Like I'm being watched. I turn my head down the road, towards the rear of the Bradley, only to find nothing but endless waves of snow. I look the other way only to see the same thing. Above the treetops towards the way I came is a big hill covered in dull brown trees. It goes quite high at a relatively steep angle, but the summit is made of rock and snow.

Where do I go now?

I have no clue where I am. I'm not as cold as I was earlier, but the sun is rising. It'll get warmer eventually, but there's only so much time in a day and I need to make the most of every second. I'll check the interior of the Bradley for supplies. Maybe it still works! But then I'd have to find out how to drive it. Shouldn't be that hard. Probably.

I grasp onto a solid and secure point near the top of the armored vehicle and hoist myself up to it's side. Using my limited upper-body strength I pull myself to the top of the Bradley and look down. The hatch on the top of the vehicle is open, and some snow has piled into the exposed section. I extend an arm through the hatch and immediately take note of the temperature. It must be as cold as an icebox in there!

My legs position themselves to enter the Bradley through the hatch, and I use my arms to lower myself inside. I hope there aren't any dogoos hiding in there. My feet land on the snow layered atop the metal of the interior, and I maneuver my head to look around the dark, cramped compartments.

I can tell I'm in the commander's seat of the vehicle due to the screens and other miscellaneous equipment in front of me. I think there still is power remaining, as some small lights are on. To my right is what I believe to be the gunner's seat, as there is a joystick-type accessory along with a keyboard in front of the one screen there. I slide off the commander's seat carefully as to not hit my head on any low lying parts, and place my frozen butt onto the gunners seat. And that's when I really start to smell something rancid.

Between the commander's seat and the gunner's seat is a hole that lets you climb down into the transportation compartment and driver's seat. I didn't notice it before because I was preoccupied, but there was a horrible smell coming out of that hole. Like stale frozen beef. Retching slightly in disgust, I decide not to investigate.

I start fumbling with the controls, and place a hand on the joystick. I push it slightly to the left, and the screen turns on all of a sudden, startling me. It seems like the thing was on sleep mode! If that's even a thing. I tug on the rod to the left again, and the camera shifts to the left. Even if I'm in such a precarious situation, that's pretty damn cool!

The bottom left of the screen tells me that the main cannon, the bushmaster, is armed. I don't know how to switch weapons, and even though I'd like to learn how to, just pressing buttons randomly isn't going to work this time. And no, I don't see any button labeled "switch weapon". Oh wait. There's a little panel beside the stick that is labeled "switch weapon" and now I feel silly. I flip the switch and now the machine gun is armed.

Satisfied with the armament of the Bradley, I pull myself back over to the commander's seat. I think there might be a radio somewhere, but I just need to keep looking. On my left there's a box that says "channel" and then the number 6 inside a box as to imply that it could be a different number. That's definitely the radio box, but how do I use it? Oh. I'm dumb again. There's a military-grade headset mounted to the right of the radio box, and I tuck it down over my ears. I don't hear anything. Maybe this is on sleep mode too. I press a few buttons here and there and then the system comes to life. Lights flicker on and now the station is illuminated! Huzzah! Sound is coming through as clear as day, but a better word to describe the sound could be deemed to be chaos.

Fast paced voices are spouting off military lingo really quickly, with a chorus of "Over"s and "Dragon"s. I don't recall dragon to be a military term, but I digress. After a few moments pass, no one is talking surprisingly enough. That's when I decide to make a move, even though I don't quite know how to talk in this situation. I shift in my seat and depress a button on the left side of the headset labled plainly as "talk".

"Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me?" I say with a hint of hesitation.

"I hear you! Who's talking, over?" A deep-voiced man replies.

"Uhh," I glance awkwardly around the vehicle momentarily. "I'm a civilian who stumbled across an abandoned Bradley, sir!"

"Hey, your IFF tag is identifying you as callsign Charlie One, we lost contact with them a while ago. Switch to channel 7 and we can keep talking, out." He said, much slower and more legible than the way the other people that were talking earlier.

How do I switch to channel seven? It might be this twistable knob beside the channel icon, so I twist it without care or direction at all. It switches me to channel five.

"WHISKY SIX WE'VE COME UNDER SMALL ARMS FIRE ONE CLICK OUT FROM THE TOWN!" The deafeningly loud speaker hyperventilates before resuming. "We need help, the squad is taking casualties, just s-send anything you got just help us! Over!"

"Fucking hell!" The man on the other end curses. "I got one blackhawk rearming ten minutes away, I'll send it, over!"

"It's no use, enemy aircraft got us pinned, we're done for! I got eyes on a goddamn fucking-" He pauses, presumably to gather a fitting description for the hostile he sees. "A-alien hovercraft approaching us from the south over the hill, we don't have the means to fight it!" He grits his teeth and takes a deep breath as gunfire sounds off vibrantly through the radio. "Fucking- God damn chain of command, god damn fucking magic, god damn it all! Just fucking AGH!" He yells, and the Radio clicks off.

"Jester One? Jester One come in!" The remaining operator sighs. A long pause marks a solemn silence in which Whisky Six awaits a response. I hear his breathing through the radio, and they are long, drawn out breaths with shaky exhales in between. "I guess we're all a fucking joke now, eh Jester?"

* * *

Wrong channel… I flip the knob the other way, over to channel 7.

"Hello?" I say.

"Hey kid, took you long enough."

"Where am I, if I may ask?"

"You should be somewhere southwest of Boston. The whole country became a warzone over the course of the night. " The man says. He seems really… depressed. His tone is soft and he speaks as if it were a chore. "Listen kid, you're on your own right now. Charlie One was ambushed by hostiles a two nights ago as they were transporting civilian casualties. If you were one of those wounded, you gotta be real fucking lucky to have survived."

He keeps talking and I keep listening. "I get that you're probably really tired, cold and hungry right now, but you need to understand that one kid stuck behind enemy lines doesn't mean much to the Army at this point."

"Sir, I'm not a child." I state with my lips quivering, and my heart beats fast at the news. I'd much rather him just tell me outright that I'm dead rather than skirt around the point. My hands get a little shaky, and my body feels numb. Is this what it feels like to be in your final minute? I know I got at least another day in me, but I'm kinda freaking out internally right now.

The man sighs. A wave of static runs through the connection, but then I can hear him talking again, this time with a hint of finality in his voice.

"Buddy, before you die, I've got a rather… selfish request to ask of you, if you're still listening."

"Yes sir, I'm still listening."

"I'm due east of your position. You should be able to spot a big-ass dragon around a click away to the east, and that thing is gonna kill me and the others here if something isn't done about it. Those Bradleys, they got a TOW anti-tank missile launcher up top that might just be able to kill that sonofabitch. Listen, I know you don't know how to use it and all, but please… please do your best, willya?"

"I- Okay. Good luck, sir." I stutter, unable to find the right words.

"Heh. I'll see you on the other side, kid. Out."

The radio clicks off, leaving me alone in the freezing metal coffin.

I pry the headset off my ears and return them to their spot by the radio slowly, and once I finish, my stomach growls. The pressure on my chest tightens rather forcibly, so I pat my stomach with my hands like you would to a child's head. This is all messed up. Never in my life had I ever been so hungry, and I know that might not seem like much coming from someone who lived their whole life in a first world country, but it still really sucks. I can't think about anything but food, but I remind myself that I have a mission. I tighten my fists up into a ball and squeeze my eyes closed, and release a primal hiss to myself in anger.

My grip loosens and I start to take slow, deep breaths. Steadily I recuperate, but I know that the clock's ticking. My feelings on the past and present will have to wait until after I survive.

I lift my butt off the fairly snowy commander's seat and brush myself off before scooting over to the gunner's seat and settling down. I rub my hands together in front of my face to warm them up before grasping the joystick in front of me. This should be like Arma or Battlefield, right? Right?

I tilt the stick to the left and the cannon follows. I hear the weapon turning smoothly, like a well oiled machine. The sudden stop of the cannon sends a slight jolt through the vehicle, but I ignore it as I peer through the screen. A wide crosshair sits in the middle of the screen, painted a light red color. The red shines onto my face in the dim light of the Bradley along with the colors of the snow and trees behind it. To the left of the Bradley lies the dip in the hill, and in the distance I can see endless hills of snow and trees. It's a beautiful sight, but smokestacks and tracers being exchanged ruin the usually tranquil mood. It's hard to hear the explosions and gunfire at this distance even when outside the vehicle, so I don't blame myself for not noticing it before.

And now I spot my target. The tips of the trees on my hill hamper my vision to an extent, but for the most part I can see it as clear as day. It's a massive humanoid dragon with giant horns, hunched over the landscape as it trudged through the forest, clearing a wide path in the trees as it marched. Even though it's hunched over, only the waist of the creature brushes against the treetops. It's a dull brown color with some tan highlights at the shoulders and other joints, and it's chest is painted a dreary grey. Two crooked wings, coated in what seems like leather protrude proudly from the back of the monster, only adding to it's terrifying appearance. And to top it all off, it's claws look frighteningly like the size of myself!

I sit there in fearful awe, but when I see gunfire coming from the woods and striking the monster, I know that I have to act. I don't know the range of the TOW launcher on the Bradley, but I'd assume it's at least a few thousand meters. A click is a meager 1,000 meters, so this should be a piece of cake for the missile.

I switch weapons to the launcher with a flip of a switch, and line up the crosshairs with the dragon's head. It's hard to aim accurately when the thing is moving so much, but I guess I'll just have to make do. Is the missile laser guided? I think so. In Arma launchers lock on by pressing the T button, but I don't think that I'd neither be able to lock onto that monster nor press T in this situation.

I swallow the amount of saliva building up in my mouth, and my tongue returns to being as dry as a rock. My hand readjusts its grip upon the joystick, and I brace myself mentally to fire. As long as there aren't any safeties imbedded onto the firing mechanism, I should be- WHOAH!

My itchy trigger finger slipped, and the missile erupts from it's container. It streaks through the skies in a majestic stream of white and red before finally slamming into a hill off to my right, sending dirt and snow high into the sky along with a great burst of flames and wood. Okay. Okay. I'm not startled. I'm fine. I start sweating out of nervousness, but continue to focus on my target. So that answered a few of my questions, most notably that yes- it is guided by my crosshair and no- there isn't a safety.

This time, I take aim at the dragon's side. It's roaring for some reason, and I can make out grenade launchers being fired at the dragon's face. I don't know why, but that makes me a bit happy. With a tinge of a smile on my face, I fire the weapon with a devastating detonation. I keep my hand on the controls steady as the missile trails towards it's target with a purpose. After a handful of tense seconds, the missile lands on it's target, detonating in a purely awesome explosion. The dragon recoils in pain and nearly topples over to the side, but steadied itself upright with it's tail. It roars in anger, throwing its arms into the air and slashing forward into the trees with tremendous might.

A third missile is ready to be fired. I squeeze the trigger once more and yet another missile is launched at the creature, this time I aim at it's face. It covers the distance in seconds, and slams against the cheek of the dragon. For a moment, I think it might be dead. I hold my breath. I think I'm out of missiles, so if it's still alive all my efforts were for naught.

The gunfire appears to have died down by now, and only the gentle vibrations of more distant gunfire can be heard if I try hard enough. Usually when the monsters died, they would evaporate in a sparkly mess of blue crystal things, but I guess not this time. The dragon's body is hunched over, seeming defeated. It hasn't fallen though, which is quite peculiar. Apparently not everything blows up in a cloud of blue, so there's a lot I still don't know about these monsters. Wait a minute. The dragon starts stirring, huffing out dark plumes of smoke from it's nostrils. I spoke too soon.

Oh man. I wave my hands over the controls, searching for the control to switch weapons. I scramble for it with my left hand and activate it once again, swapping to the Bushmaster cannon. It's an autocannon with not much as much penetrating power as a missile or tank round, but I just hope that it's enough to send that thing straight to hell, as IF would say. Speaking of which… Eh, I get sidetracked too easily. I push the crosshairs over the creature and squeeze the trigger.

Round after round spirals out towards my target, but land somewhere between me and the dragon. Not close enough. Hmm, so I'd either have to find a way to adjust the range setting on the weapon, which would take up valuable time and effort that I'm not in the mood for, or I could just aim higher. I opt for the second choice.

I pull back on the joystick with a sliver of force, and the cannon moves towards the sky- but just enough so that it should compensate for the range. Feeling somewhat content with my actions, I then pull on the trigger. The gun breaks apart the forest scene's serenity with no effort at all, and sends Bushmaster rounds straight at the body of the beast. They hit!

But it doesn't really do anything. I can see them impacting, sure, but it's not reacting in any way. I kinda feel ignored at this. I keep shooting, but this time I aim higher and for the maw of the dragon. They hit, but he keeps pushing forward up the hill as if nothing is happening. Damn it!

I release the trigger, propping my chin up against the keyboard with my newly free hand. I guess I really am helpless, even with this big-ass military hunk of junk.I pull my hand down to my lap and lean back against the seat. The same putrid scent starts to register to my nose, and my face scrunches up. I can't bear the scent, and step over to the commander's seat.

* * *

I don't want to think about what's going on where the radio operator is. But no matter how hard I try, my mind wanders back to hypothetical situations where men are getting ripped in two or something. It's messed up, I know. I throw my hands over my face.

I don't have my bag with all my clothes and gear. I think I left my phone in the apartment room, but I pat my pockets to double check. Wait a minute.

I reach into the right-hand side of my pocket and I pull out my beautiful phone. I start laughing to myself softly out of happiness. I've never felt so elated in my life! Something good happened today! My stomach rumbles. Dang it. I can't have good things, it seems.

It's dead. The cold must've killed it. I press the palms of my hands onto each side of the phone to warm it up. As this happens, I release a sigh of relief and look around the cabin of the Bradley. All sorts of military computers and electronics surround me, lit up by two dim lights in the roof of the vehicle. And that's when I see the pistol wedged neatly on a shelf behind me.

I slide my phone between my thighs and reach out for the gun. It's an M9 Beretta. A fine piece of military hardware. I grasp the firearm at the grip and hold it in my palms out in front of me. It's beautiful. The shiny gleam of the weapon's metal reflects a smile of mine back at me, and I flip the gun around so I can see the magazine. I remove the magazine by sliding it ever so carefully out of the gun. The weight feels satisfying, so I assume I have a full magazine. Hell yes! I keep myself from squealing in excitement, like a kid getting a new toy on their birthday. Last time I checked the gun should hold 15 rounds of 9mm ammunition, so I feel much more confident with myself. This 9mm should pack way more of a punch than John's old 22. Rifle. I imagine splattering a dogoo into tiny bits and pieces with a single shot, and dancing triumphantly afterwards. I mean, it should kill them with one shot, right? I guess I'll just have to find out for myself.

I slide the magazine back into the pistol with an orgasmicly resounding click. It's really fucking nice if it's not obvious already. I set the pistol down in my lap, exchanging it for my phone. It's turning on, which is good. I got the power! My stomach rumbles again. Whups. I tuck my device into my right leg pocket and take the firearm back into my hands.

There's not much more I can do here but freeze to death. A light breeze blows over the exposed canopy of the Bradley, sending a chill into the vehicle. I'll take that as my cue to get out.

I steady myself against the cold walls of the Bradley as I stand up on my seat, peeking my head out the top of the vehicle. It's still fairly early in the morning as the sun hasn't pushed itself over the treetops yet. Pushing out any lingering thoughts about the now-visible dragon out in the distance, I clamber out the hatch, sitting down against the roof of the armored vehicle. I push snow out of my way as I get ready to slide down the left side of the vehicle, but right before I do, two people stumble out of the woods in a daze, not far off to my left.

* * *

They wield some sort of rifle that I've never seen before. It's similar to the M4, but it's much more smooth without any sharp edges. Both of them wear the same clothes, dirty black pants and a very elaborately designed black vest over- you guessed it- a heavy black shirt. On their heads they have a helmet, and over their faces they have a mask. But what stands out to me is that they have nice, warm gloves. I want gloves. And they boast a dark purple stripe on the sides of their shoulders. Oh, and as a side note they have boobs.

"Oh… oh… what are we doing Compa?" The one on the left mumbles, staggering out of the bushes.

The other one raises an arm to speak, but then turns her head to face the Bradley, noticing me in the process. I scramble for my gun and hastily take aim at the soldier who saw me.

"Wha!" She screeches, fumbling for her gun but dropping it in the process. The other girl snaps to face me, but then freezes once she notices my gun.

"Gun down, put it on the ground." I say blankly. This was really unexpected. They aren't on my side, that's one thing I can tell right off the bat. I'm exhausted, hungry and mentally wasted so I don't have much patience at this point.

The last girl with the gun lowers her gun to the ground, but when she stands back up does nothing else. I slide off the Bradley, still pointing at them with the barrel of my gun.

"Step back, away from me." They step back warily, keeping their faces pointed right at me. "Uhh, further." I want them to get away from their guns so I can take them.

A gust of wind runs through the trees, shaking snow off of them and blowing it my way. It's cold, but it's not that bad.

I don't really know what to do here… I mean I just kinda took some people as prisoners I guess…

"Now what? You going to do something to us!?" The girl further away from me snaps, stepping forwards.

"Hey, kick your guns over to me. Quickly now." I order, waving my gun around like a criminal. This feels really wrong, but what else am I supposed to do?

The soldier closest to me kicks the rifles one at a time at me, and they skid over to my feet. I kneel over with my pistol still aiming at them and tuck the other guns under my armpit like you would a newspaper or something. They aren't very heavy, which surprised me.

I step back. "Alright." I look off to my right, towards the dragon. It's shuffling around in a drunken haze, trampling over trees as if it were nothing. I turn back to face my captives. I lower the gun a little, putting less strain on my forearm. "We're going to be walking in that direction." I point in the direction the Bradley is facing.

I hope we come across an Army patrol or something. I don't know what to do if they try and escape, maybe their guns will be useful on them. I know that our bullets don't really affect the CPUs in the slightest, and for all I know they might be superhumans as well. That's what CPUs are, right? That's what IF said, and that's all I know.

"You guys take the lead. Move it." I gesture in the direction with the pistol. I stuff the pistol into my right cargo pants pocket beside my phone, and it fits rather loosely. I bring one of the rifles into my arms, and I clutch it awkwardly with the other gun under my left armpit. If they make a move I'd have to drop the other gun, but I don't see that as being so bad.

They pass me with a shuffle, and then once they take a considerable lead I follow close behind them. The road is layered in snow, so walking is a little difficult. I simply follow in their footsteps and the walking goes alright. A bit of snow just got in my shoes, getting my socks cold and wet, but I'll manage.

We walk for a while, and I don't have a destination in mind. The thin trees on the left eventually dissipate, leaving the view of the surrounding countryside exposed to the eye. The snow meshes nicely with the trees. A handful of houses are scattered across the hills, and once in a while the outline of a snowed-in road peeks out of the secluded shelter of the trees. It would be a peaceful scene, had I not been packing some serious firepower.

"Umm… what's your name?" The girl on the left asks. She has a gentle voice, one not befit for a soldier. If I had to say, she would make an excellent babysitter. Her voice is so sweet, a single lullaby could drift me off to sleep.

The girl beside her nudges her in the arm. "You don't ask your captor that, Compa! Pipe down or he'll kill us!"

I laugh at that, and they seem a little startled to hear me do so. The girl named Compa slows down, but the other girl nudges her in the side again and they return to their normal pace.

"My name? You can call me Nathan. And you're Compa?" This has got the be the most awkward greeting ever.

"Oh, yes it is!" She replies bubbly, with a skip in her step. She doesn't even care that I'm holding her captive, I guess that's a good thing. Unless she has no fear of me. In that case she could go up and snap my neck at any time.

"Shut up!" The other girl hisses under her breath.

"Don't mind her, Nathan. She's always grumpy like this. Right?" Compa says.

"Hey… stop gesturing to me like I'm relevant or something!" The other girl mutters. What a strange duo. They look like soldiers but don't act like it at all.

"What do you mean you're not relevant? You're here, aren't you?" I ask, rolling my shoulders.

"Well, yeah, but I'm just a lousy NPC. I have no relevance."

Pfft. That's stupid in almost every way. Maybe an NPC is the name of an oppressed ethnic minority from where she came from, so I shouldn't press the subject. It might be a sensitive topic, I know that it is here in the States. So I decide to keep quiet in retaliation to that last statement.

They start talking to each other, and I don't really care what they do as long as they aren't plotting to kill me. A piece of me says that it'll be alright to just let them go, but another part of me feels as though they'll come back and bash my head in with their bare hands. Take IF for instance. She got her head bashed a bit by Peashy and she was fine. I wonder what they're up to right now. I hope that they're having a good time. But not IF. I don't know if I can forgive her for what she did to us. I'm scared to hell that Owen might be dead, even if I don't show it outright. I'd pray to the Flying Spaghetti Monster if I had time, but right now I feel betrayed by him. What did I do to deserve this, FSM? Deities can be unpredictable. Who knows, maybe it's Allah pulling the strings right now. Or the Christian God. But then again, I wouldn't dare exclude the great lord Vishnu. Meh, perhaps the Buddha was right all along. Whatever the case may be, I just hope I didn't piss that guy off somehow.

Then I get a question. It's been bugging me for a while, but it felt too awkward to ask it earlier.

"Compa and friend, what are you doing out here?" It's a rather broad question, and I'd like to see how they take it.

"Oh, you're wondering why we're out here? Umm…" Compa begins, but is unsure on how to fully respond.

Her comrade takes the reigns. "We got lost, that's all. We didn't desert or anything, right Compa?"

"Oh, uh yeah! That's as right as rain!" Compa finishes. But before they can start talking to each other again like little girls, I ask another question.

"So, are you part of an invading army or something?" It's an obvious answer, but I'd like to know what they have to say about it anyways.

"Well technically you could say that, but it wasn't my decision to do so. Do you live around here?" Compa turns around and starts to walk backwards, staring at me under her mask and helmet wuht her head tilted like a child.

"I do live around here, and I would be really happy if you would stop killing my neighbors. That's why I'm keeping you here like this." I say with resentment, raising the weapon in my arms a little. My stomach rumbles again.

"I'm really sorry about that, but it wasn't my decision. It really wasn't!"

"Oh shut your trap Compa, you're just making things worse. And yes mister, we're here to take your shit and burn it to ground. You better watch your back cause Purple Heart will skin you alive if she finds out what you're doing to us!" The other girl stammers angrily, pulling a surprised Compa back to her side and facing front.

They seem like good people. It's a shame they decided to become a foot soldier. But that Purple Heart person, I feel like I've heard that name before. Was it Peashy? I think she called herself "Yellow Heart" at one point, and she turned out to be one of those CPU people. Would it be wrong to put two and two together to assume that Purple Heart is a CPU And that would make her a powerful figure, putting her near the top of their chain of command. So I guess that that threat holds some weight.

"Hey now, what am I doing to you? You're the one who invaded my homeland." I retort.

"It's a matter of necessity, dumbass. Planeptune needs this land much more than you do. You're just one of those no-level assholes, you wouldn't understand."

That's the second time I've heard the "no-level" thing sound like a derogatory slur by one of those people. And what would Planeptune be? That's a weird name for a country. I'm guessing that Planeptune stands for a patriotic idea. Like "Juche" for North Korea and "Bushido" for Japan, Planeptune sounds like it would have to do with fierce nationalism and some spiritual strength. If I'm wrong then please correct me. Eh? I'm just monologuing again. Nevermind, me.

"Well miss, I'll have you know that I'm actually level 62 in Skyrim." I snide. Maybe Owen's behavior is rubbing off on me. I usually never act like this.

"Level 62?" The NPC soldier stops in her tracks. Compa also pauses and looks back in an inquisitive manner. I halt as well, and just stare blankly back at them.

"What's so bad about being level 62? I know it's not the highest level, sure, but it's a good in-between point for me." Hey, it's been awhile since I played Skyrim. I reset my game twice, so level 62 is a solid level to be at at my point in the game.

"No wonder I was sensing such high energy residue on you. Meh. Carry on." The girl marches ahead, leaving Compa to catch up in a daze.

"Hey! Whats up with you?" I ask brashly. We're approaching a crest in the road, after this point the road goes in a downward direction in elevation.

She huffs and pulls Compa closer. Once we pass the crest in the hill, they pause once more. The other girl holds her arm out, pushing against Compa's stomach so she can't move any further. She scans the area with her eyes, and then holds still.

She puts her arm back down, and resumes walking.

"I thought I heard something." She crosses her arms.

"Yeah, yeah, just keep walking." I bark, bored.

We keep walking.

* * *

It's still fairly early in the day, but I already feel like I've been out here forever. My body is warming up, so that's a plus. But I'm still starving, so I need to address that issue fast or I'll starve. But my severe lack of water is more important, right? Eh. I scoop up some untouched snow as we walk and I shove it into my mouth. Wow, that's actually pretty good. I stuff some more snow into my mouth, freezing my hand and face as a side effect.

Sacrifices must be made for hydration.

There's still a lot of unanswered questions out there, and I know this is only the beginning of my journey. I don't think I'll see Owen again, and that is actually pretty depressing. I hope he lived at least. Knowing him, he probably bandaged his wound with a bandage made of his ripped shirt, and is creeping up on IF with a rock, about to bash her head in. He never learns his lesson. And Peashy? I actually don't think I'll see her again. I bet she got put under tight security where she's from, and her parents won't ever let her out of sight again.

But what do I know? I'm just some dude out in the woods, armed with weapons during a hostile invasion with two captives gossiping about how to treat pelvic hemorrhaging with 20ccs of neptunium. And that's not even a stable element, let alone used for medicinal purposes. Isn't that radioactive too? It's not my place to say, I barely passed Chemistry class.

A gust of wind passes me by, scooping up a bunch of snow and throwing it right at my face, causing me to squint. Once my eyes recover, I spot something in the distance.

A military patrol or something, I see two forest-camo Humvees stopped at an intersection not far from here. Some people are walking about, scanning the trees. I hope they see me. But will they start shooting me? I bet the army is really antsy right now, especially with the dragon roaming around somewhere.

With renewed vigor, I press onwards towards probable death. Or salvation. It's hard to tell at this point.


	10. Chapter 10

I pulled my left foot out of the deep snow strenuously, and yet, contrary to what usually is normal, each step seemed to become lighter. I paid no attention to the trek, and just let the hillside pull me down it's slope. Walking down a hill isn't easy, especially if it's as snow-covered as it is now. It's next to impossible to keep a steady foothold in the snow, and I only hope that I don't slip on the next step I take. But no matter how tedious the walk downhill is, my goal is getting ever so close. My stomach grumbles as we reach the bottom crest of the hill.

My arms lower the captured weapon I carry to try and relieve any concerns of hostility, but I'm ready to throw my arms back up into a ready position in case my prisoners make any sudden moves. The air is tense, and a tinge of fear creeps into my mind. The army saw us a long time ago, and I can see the forms of soldiers scattered behind boulders and trees in the snow beside the road. The humvee closest to us has the engine running, and a small stream of smoke rises up from the exhaust port and into the pure morning air around it.

I speed up my pace and jog out in front of the two captives, only to turn around at them and hold up a palm to make them stop. They recognize the gesture and slowly come to a halt. The NPC shows resentment as her fists squeeze together, but I know that she won't try anything unless she wants a face full of bullets. They shift around in the snow with their arms fidgeting at their sides anxiously, and I wonder what might be going on in their minds right now. I turn around anxiously to face the camouflaged soldiers.

I wave at them with a smile on my face. It's a little hard to keep it up when they're pointing their weapons at me. I know approaching them might be a bit dangerous with all the fighting going on nearby and all, but who knows? Maybe they won't think that I'm plotting with the enemy to break through their defence.

"Hello?" I call out, my smile already fading. I can tell that my voice isn't as confident as I'd like it to be. I continue to speak. "I could use some help?"

Nothing happens for a moment as the whistling wind rips through the trees, causing me to squint and bring my hand over to my eyes. But, in the midst of the wind, a middle aged man with a slight southern accent breaks the silence.

"Who you got with you?" The speaker kneels behind a tree, and his gun is trained in my direction. I can't tell if they're aiming at me or my captives and that worries me.

After hesitating for a moment, I gather my fading courage and respond clearly.

"They're… They're my prisoners, sir. I picked them up off the side of the road, sir."

Oh shit, I really screwed that up. Oh shit.

The man with the accent steals a look to his left at another soldier. After quickly nodding to the other man, he holds a solemn yet steady stare as he turns to face me again. My explanation couldn't have been believable. It must be painfully obvious that I'm a prisoner of some sort, forced to betray my own people by smuggling enemy soldiers behind their lines… It seems farfetched, sure, but I've read that in a book somewhere that that's happened before. Or maybe that was just from a bad game I played before. Eh, whatever.

I stand still, my body rigid with nervous fear. What's the worst that could happen? Probably something horrid. Maybe they'd just shoot at us and get it over with. My stomach rumbles, and my tongue smacks against the dry roof of my mouth. A tiny, reclusive part of me hopes that they would just hurry up and kill us, but I don't know why. What am I thinking? That's messed up. I can get through this. Right?

My palms are drenched with sweat as I readjust my grip on the rifle, making my hands feel all disgusting and dirty. Whenever my hands would get disgusting in the winter, I'd always reach down into the snow and pull out a big chunk of it to melt in my hands. But I'd always feel as though passerbys and car drivers would think of it the wrong way and think that I was going to throw it at them or something else that would be equally nefarious. But I would never do that, that's just wrong. It's a silent judgment I set on myself, an irrational one at that and yet it just doesn't go away no matter how dumb it is.

"Hey kid, over here!" The man calls out to me. Were they talking to me? Was I not listening? Oh jeez, I need to pay better attention next time. Or now, for that matter. "I'm gonna ask you a few questions about nuthin in particular, that cool with you?" He asks, rather timidly as to not intimidate me.

"Y-yeah, of course!" I respond with a stutter.

He clears his throat as another gust of wind swooshes past, shaking the trees, causing clusters of snow to fall from their branches softly.

"So, you a fan of baseball?" He says.

"Not in particular, no, but I know a few of the local teams."

"I see. What do you prefer, Red Sox or Yankees?"

Red Sox would be an obvious answer as they're the home team here. If I didn't know any better, I'd choose the Yankees as a "Yankee" is slang for an American. These guys are pretty smart. I mean, I wasn't doubting them in the first place! But it's pretty cool how I can see their ways of telling if I'm a local or a foreigner.

"I'd have to go with the Red Sox, sir. I went to one of their games a while back, but I still can't call myself a devoted fan of baseball, sir." I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. My stomach decides to rumble once more, and I wince internally.

"Everyone goes with their home team, son. It's patriotism." He pauses, deep in thought. Then he clicks his lips together before continuing, as if he came to a sudden realisation. "Speaking of which, would you happen to know our national anthem by any chance? It's fine if you don't! Not many people pay attention to that kinda stuff." A few men snicker as if he were teasing me. I can't tell if that's some sort of inside joke or not, but I assume it's just part of their comradery of some sort. So basically an inside joke. I might as well humor them, right?

I really wanted to get into this special chorus group in freshman year, and to get in we had to perform the Star Spangled Banner perfectly. So I practiced a lot, and even now I hum it subconsciously to myself a bit. But even though I know the song I don't consider myself to be a total patriot. Sure, I believe in what the constitution has to say and I hold the same beliefs that the Declaration of Independence states as well, but I realize that the US has done some questionable things throughout history and today as well. But then again, so has every other country. I guess our country is so open to criticism because of the superpower status we have, and that puts all our faults in the spotlight. But that's the cost of being free, right? But I digress.

I do know the national anthem, but I can't say I'm a good singer. Sure, maybe that's just me putting myself down, but I know as a fact that my voice cracks if I try to sing in a high pitch. So if they want me to sing it I'd be in for a world of embarrassment.

"I do know it, sir. I had to learn the Star Spangled Banner for chorus, sir." I proclaim, hoping that they don't think I'm a really embedded agent or something.

He smiles, and I can see how wide it is from where I stand. The soldier with the accent has a rather large build, and it seems fitting for such a grin.

"Well! A chorus kid, huh? And a true patriot to boot! I can't say I was a fan of the arts back in mah day, but I always appreciate a good song or two. Say! Boy, you seem pretty hungry. We got some spare MREs back in the truck, you want one? We'll take care of those prisoners of yours too, but you gotta tell me all about it, kay?" The leader chuckles, emerging from cover and stepping forward. The other men recognize what he means, and start shuffling back towards their vehicles, some whispering to one another with distrust in their eyes, and others dreary with relieved faces, satisfied and content that they won't have to be stuck with the memory of killing someone as young as I am.

I walk to the squad leader, who welcomes me with an arm outstretched and the other holding a MRE bagged in plastic. Wow, he's faster than he looks.

"I'm afraid I'm gonna have to confiscate these here rifles of yours. We've been on the prowl for alien weaponry, so this will certainly help the eggheads back at R&D." He berates forcefully, but transitions to a more forgiving tone. With a face full of hope, he happily accepts the rifles as I hand the first one over to him. As I swing the second gun into my hands from under my armpit, he notices the Beretta in my pocket.

"Where'd you find that, son?" He bears a puzzled expression, but his eyebrows are angled upwards in concern as well.

"This?" I look down at my pocket as I hand the second gun over to him. He pulls the rifles into his chest before handing them to a second soldier beside him. He warily extends the hand with the MRE towards me, and I gleefully accept it with both hands. "I'll go over a quick rundown right now…" I pause, recalling the past. "I woke up beside the road where an abandoned Bradley was, and I went inside and found this." I reach down with one hand and pat the pistol fondly. "When I was coming out of the vehicle, those two came out of the woods." I look back at Compa and the NPC, who are being patted down for weapons beside the running humvee. "I just pointed the gun at them and they surrendered, sir. I think they were running away or something, sir."

"Is that so?" He mumbles, deep in thought. "Well, I ain't about to take that from you just yet." He sighs and looks down sadly. It doesn't last long, and he returns to normal right then and there. "You do know how to use that piece, do you?" He inquires.

"Yes sir, I do sir!" I say with more diction.

"That's good. How about that meal?" He smirks with an eyebrow raised inquisitively as I look down at the package in my hands. I watched some videos online about these things, and I know that I need water to activate the chemical heater contained within. Maybe I could use snow as a substitute, but I'll ask anyway.

"I do, sir." On second thought, I'm too shaken to ask any questions right now.

"Very good. I have to say, I'm impressed! Where did you learn all your skills of yours? You thinkin of joining up with us someday?"

I shudder a little. More out of nervousness rather than a thought. But It might be because I'm cold. "I used to want to join the army, yeah, but I realized that I kinda want a social life after thinking over it for a bit." I suddenly realize that blunt honesty may be hazardous to my well-being. "Oh! No offence, sir!"

He has a very hearty chuckle, like one you'd expect from a grandparent or santa. Maybe both combined. His laugh tells me that he's a good type of person, despite being in the occupation of having to kill. "Son, the army's not for everyone, I'll tell ya that. And you don't have to call me 'sir' all the damn time, just call me Sergeant Sandler. That's what everyone else does." He says, and then turns his head back at the group of captives once again. It's strange how they don't appear to be struggling at all. They don't show any signs of being upset either, but rather hints of shame. Their heads are down, and they don't make eye contact with anyone. Sergeant Sandler breaks the short silence with soft words. He certainly knows how to act around kids. That makes me wonder if he has any kids of his own. They must be lucky to have such an awesome dad. "By the way, I never caught your name, kid."

I jerk back to face him. "My name? It's Nathan. Nathan Kiowa, Sergeant." I've felt a little reclusive about my last name for the longest time. I don't know why I feel so secretive about it, but I just never really like to say it for some reason. I think it might be because it's my dad's last name, and I've never met my dad so I feel like I don't deserve it. But that reason is a little unreasonable, and I know it.

"Well Kiowa, you seem to be a real unique kid. Not in a bad way, but I doubt any other kids your age would've lasted this long on their own."

That's a matter of perspective, Sergeant Sandler, I thought to myself. I really want to tell him about Owen, but I feel like it wouldn't do any good. I look away from him, and at my packaged meal. I feel a little ashamed when I think about Owen. It's a guilt centered around my lack of action that night. If only I had done something to stop IF, if only I wasn't so helpless, if only I had done something more, if only I'd saved him.

I nod at Sergeant Sandler before looking away again. "Thanks for this, Sergeant."

"No problem kid." He says. I hear him walk in the other direction, snow crunching under his boots.

I'll avenge Owen. Somehow.

My face furls up into a scowl and my sweaty hands tighten around the edge of the plastic bag. I tear the bag open, and proceed to walk over to the edge of the road, paying no heed to my surroundings. Along the road there is a metal barrier, and I sit down on top of it. My ass is cold. I clench my teeth together and continue to tear apart the bag.

A rectangular cardboard box has the words 'MASHED POTATOES' on it, and another bears the title 'SPAGHETTI WITH BEEF AND SAUCE". Oh jeez. I don't want to think about spaghetti right now. I set it aside on the snow with shaky hands. I also come across a freeze-dried cookie and a drink packet labeled "GRAPE FLAVORED NO FRUIT JUICE" and I can tell this is going to be good.

Ah, a 400 calorie cookie less than the size of my palm. I flip the package of GRAPE FLAVORED NO FRUIT JUICE over and examine the nutritional contents. Splendid. 120% vitamin C. Oh, and would you look at this? The 1200 calorie mashed potatoes are somehow loaded with protein up the bazingo. My favorite. I don't even know if I'm being sarcastic here anymore. I seriously need food. These MREs aren't meant to be eaten all in one go, but rather over the course of a day. But hey, I'm pretty hungry.

The heater is another pouch, this time transparent and green with some chemicals, and a water-permeable package is contained within. I tear the top off the pouch and also the top of the MASHED POTATOES carton to reveal an olive green pouch containing the potatoes. Squishy. I toss the pouch into the heating pouch quickly, haphazardly tossing the empty carton to my feet. I'm not concerned about litter right now. My mouth starts to water as I toss a large clump of snow into the heater, and put my freezing hands at the base of the whole package. My body heat will melt the snow into water, in turn activating the heater to cook my food. And just after that thought, I can already feel the package heating up.

Things are looking up for me it seems. I tear the spaghetti packet out of its carton and toss it in as well. I place the heater down as steam starts to escape from the top, and I wait patiently as it heats.

As I wait, I look up at the soldiers. They seem to be occupied now that they've come across the captives, and they are all milling about with a purpose. A few men are using a radio inside of the humvee, while others are watching the woods with attentive gazes. Sergeant Sandler is kneeling down before Compa, and it looks like he's trying to talk to the girls. It doesn't appear to be working, as none of them are talking. I don't want to make any assumptions, but I think Compa might be in tears because of everything happening to her right now. Poor girl. Now that I think about it, I bet she was drafted into service. She was friendly to me, even though I was the one who captured her at gunpoint. Something about that tells me she isn't the fighting type. At least, not a conventional fighter. Who knows, maybe she comes from a place where people fight with oversized syringes.

Ha. In a place like that, I might as well go on and say that those dogoo things are the least weird thing around. Now now me, I shouldn't make myself laugh.

* * *

The meal came and went in a flash. I devoured the whole thing, and I still don't feel satisfied! I shouldn't eat anything else though, I probably just had enough calories to feed a family of four. I stuffed all the trash back into the plastic bag it all came from, and walk towards the humvee.

Everyone seem to be busy, and I don't know who to bother about my tiny issue. What do I do with this trash? I'll just hold onto it for now I guess. I stuff it into a ball and shove it into my left cargo pocket. Surprisingly enough, it fits.

The prisoners are slumped against the back of one of the humvees, and they aren't talking. The Sergeant stands in a circle with two other soldiers, and shakes his head in defeat. His helmet is off and is tucked under his left armpit. He holds his rifle by the sight-handle in a casual manner, and notices me out of the corner of his eye. The other men look in my direction with exasperated gazes. I better not get on their bad sides.

"Hey Kiowa, over here!" Sergeant Sandler calls out for me. I hurry over to him, my phone and pistol rattling against one another in the process.

Once I get within arms reach, the Sergeant continues. "We're going to be pulling out of here and back to our base. I'm sorry, but we won't be able to get you to a refugee center right now. It just ain't safe."

"I have no reason to complain, Sergeant Sandler." I respond frankly.

"Good. We're lucky we got three extra seats in this truck, we're going to move the gear to the truck _right now_." He glares at the other two soldiers with the words 'right now'. One of them grunts, but they both get to work clearing the rear seats.

"That also means you're going to be sitting next to those aliens o'er there. If anything happens at all, no matter how insignificant it is, let us know asap. Y'hear?" He says earnestly.

I nod with enthusiasm. "I understand!"

"Good. Now hop in, it's gonna be a long trip." He gestures towards the car with a thumb. Once again I am surprised at the efficiency of the army. I nod again and turn towards the open door. It's very spacious back there surprisingly. My eyes are drawn to the top of the vehicle, where a intimidating grenade launcher machine weapon looms. It's awesome coat of metal gleams in the sunlight filtered through the trees, making it appear deadly even when noone is using it.

The edges of the doorframe is probably frozen, so I hold back on using it to assist in my entry of the vehicle. I slide into the car, and the Sergeant closes the door behind me. Gee, that's really nice of him. I hope it's genuine kindness and not just "hearts and minds" stuff. Upon inspection of the vehicle, I instantly notice how uncomfortable the seat cushions are. It's like the cushions you'd find on a school bus, they're thick and plasticy all at the same time.

I look up when the first shadow enters the vehicle through the other door. I can't tell who it is because of the lack of light, but I can see that the person is hurried into the vehicle with thick zipties tightened around their wrists, making it impossible to move them effectively. Of course, they could still try and go for my pistol, so I reach down and unload it, slipping the magazine into my left pocket and the pistol into my lap. Hmm… but maybe they could use it as a bludgeon. With that thought I place it under my left thigh. That way they can't hope to reach it, and if they share the same societal values as we do then it wouldn't be appropriate either.

The second person is forced into the armoured car, and the heavy door is slammed shut behind her. I bet that that person is the NPC person because of her grunts of resentment. I let out a sigh of relief. At least I'm not sitting next to _her_.

And immediately after that, Sergeant Sandler settles down into the driver's' seat and one of the men from earlier sits into the shotgun seat with one of the alien rifles in his lap. He must also know that our guns are ineffective against them. That also means that the CPU people aren't the only ones that are crazily invulnerable. All that realization does is make me even more nervous, and I eye Compa with a little more fear than before, scooting away just a little bit.

The two soldiers shut the doors behind them concurrently, and the engine roared to life. My breaths were still cold and foggy inside the car, and so did the two enemy combatants. Their masks were still on, but at least now I know that they breath the same. Hey! I just had a crazy thought. Maybe NPCs are discriminated against, not because of their race or anything, but because they weren't human at all? Maybe they are completely pink all over and have tentacles for arms, and the reason they're called NPCs is because they have four eyes! I must be a genius. Now I can't stop picturing NPC lady to have four eyes in a diamond pattern on her forehead. With pink skin.

"Hey! Just because you're all high and mighty right now doesn't give you an excuse to stare, asshat!" The NPC lady snaps. I recoil in fear a bit, but then look forward again.

"Sorry about that…" I say, embarrassed. The woman just huffs and sets her gaze out the window. The soldier in the front seat visibly tightens his grip on the alien weapon. I can see his face scrunching together in contempt from the angle I'm at. He really doesn't like something. Is it me? Is it young people? Or is it that he was personally affected by the enemy? Of course we all are, but maybe he lost family to them. That would explain the contempt.

"You're all sick people! Perverted assholes all over this world… Agh! I can't take it!" The NPC blurts out in anger.

"Watch it lady! Pipe it the fuck down!" The soldier snaps back. He leans towards us a little, revealing his rank on his shoulder. He's a private, and he certainly has the temper of a grunt. Stereotypically, of course.

The NPC backs down and into her seat. She goes back to glaring out the window like a rebellious teen. If only she had headphones. And if it were raining, and this were a bad teen romance novel. Now that would perfect the picture here.

The car starts up, and the Sergeant waits until the humvee in front of us starts moving before following behind them. He has to drive slowly in the deep snow, or else he'll get us stuck. We take a right at the intersection in front of the hill, and we move into the snow.

As time passes, I set my head against the rear of the seat and relax. We pass by vast, open fields of snow and plots of trees forming a maze within the countryside. New England farmhouses line the roadside, making the trip less of a daze and feel more like a road trip. Except I'm sitting next to two supernatural beings in the middle of an invasion of the United States. Yeah. I feel a little uncomfortable here too, if it wasn't obvious enough.

I pull out my phone. It looks like I still got 52% battery, which is really good considering the amount of time I've been without a charge. And the cold, for that matter. Anyways, I unlock the device with a quick four digit passcode and up comes my homescreen. It's an image of the Tiananmen Square massacre tank scene, except with all the tanks replaced by rubber ducks. I like to alleviate the serious events with a little bit of humor. Satire. That picture used to be really funny to me, but I don't really find it so humorous anymore. I've seen it so much it's become stale, and I really hate it when that happens. Especially in music.

I would check social media, but I don't have service at all. That makes sense considering everything that's happened lately. And because I don't feel like wasting my battery playing a game and I really don't want to open up my camera roll and have some stupid emotional moment. I've had enough of those for the past few days.

And that's when it hits me.

I really miss home.

It's rather sudden. But I can't help but really want to go home. See my mom on the couch watching some dumb asian movie or something, I'd love to back to that. My mom is Taiwanese, and she loves watching all those asian dramas. I always detested them because of all the sappy romance and never watched them with her, but now I regret it. I'd sit through a thousand of those just to have her back. A thousand needles prick my stomach all at once, and all I can see is my lap. My blue jacket has a thin gash stretching far across the zipper. My pants have a bunch of cuts around the thigh from the glass at Dunkin Donuts. I'm a mess aren't I? I grind my right palm against my cheek, and it slides on it's own up to my forehead, filled with spite.

You know what? I need to stop being so depressed. My mom would hate me for acting all down in the dumps like this all the time. She as all about moving on, past sadness and stuff. She saw it as silly- we only live for so long. But it's not easy, at least on my own. No matter how much I try to think about something else, anything at all, my mind just goes back. Back to that man at Dunkin Donuts. Back to that night where I lost Owen. My chest gets tighter and tighter.

Overcome by strife and frustration, I slap my forehead. Ach, I need to snap out of this!

"Are you okay, Nathan?" A concerned person speaks, voice as light as a feather. It's Compa. What does she want with me? I'm her enemy. But I am sitting right next to her. Oh, what the hell.

"Yup," I say, wiping my damp eyes. "I'm good." I look out the window again. A wooden fence lines the road, becoming a blur as we pick up speed. The snow really is pretty today.

"You don't seem so good. I'm… I'm sorry."

Hmm? She has nothing to be sorry about. What's she trying to do? Get me to spill my secrets or something? You know what, she does have something to be sorry about. After all, she's the one who came here with all the guns and stuff! Alright. Alright. An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Okay! I'm good, I'm good, I'm good.

Even if I am feeling marginally better, I keep my mouth shut. It was never an option to speak to the enemy.

"You know, I never really wanted to be in the army." She speaks through her mask. "I used to be a nurse! But Nep-Nep needed more people to join up as our neighbors were ahead of us, so I was… drafted." Her voice falters as she speaks. I can tell that it's a difficult subject for her.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." I say, still looking out the window. We hit a few bumps on the road, and Compa's helmet smacked against the ceiling.

"Owie!" She quietly exclaims to herself, pulling her head down. She brings her ziptied hands up to her head and smoothly removes her mask, and then she pulls off her helmet and sets it gently into her lap. She's either got some dexterity, or those bindings are far less effective than I had thought. The man in the front seat looks back at all the commotion for a moment before turning his attention back to the front.

She has fairly short hair, somewhat red in color. I'd say it's more of a peach color than a red, though. Her hair looks good, despite being cooped up inside of that helmet for what I presume to be a long time. I turn my head away as to not seem impolite.

That name though…

Nep-Nep? Could that be? Peashy had a doll she called "Neptuna" if I'm not mistaken. Could the two names be correlated? Wait. Then that would mean that either Neptuna is an important political figure or she is just a figurehead made into a doll. There are dolls of Obama and stuff, so I wouldn't be surprised if either of my conclusions are fact.

"Hey... that name, Nep, I've heard it before. Is that a nickname for someone named Neptuna?" I ask to Compa. She seems surprised that I know the name. Or rather, she looks shocked with that expression. The NPC lady has also stirred at my words, turning her attention towards me rather than the window.

"Wh-" Compa stumbles for words, taken aback. This isn't top secret information, right? Compa clears her throat. "Yes, actually. But her name isn't Neptuna, it's actually Neptune, and I like to call her Nep-Nep. I'd love to tell you why, but it's quite a long story."

"And she won't tell you more than that, scum! You won't live long enough to tell anyone of that name, so be ready to take that knowledge with you to the grave!" The unknown woman shouts with anger.

Compa raises an eyebrow, but ever so slightly that it's hardly noticeable. "How did you get that information?"

"I, uh," I make a split second decision to tell them of my past experiences. "I met a girl, no, make that two girls, they were a little eccentric. One of them had a doll that she called Neptuna."

Compa's eyes widen. "You've met Peashy? Oh! Who else was there?" I don't answer right away, and her excited energy returns to a normal level. It must be obvious that I don't really feel all that comfortable talking about it by my shudder and reclusive facial expression. But I decide to tell her anyways.

"The other was named IF."

"Really?" She almost gasps. "Wow, I didn't know my friends were friends with you too! Ooh, I bet she was on a top secret mission! She gets those all the time now. Iffy-chan moved in right next door to me, and we hang out all the time. Did she show you her phones? She loves them a whole lot!" She takes a breath for the first time since she started talking. "Hey, now that you're friends, it's only polite for you to meet Nep-Nep. Then you won't be left behind when we talk about her with Iffy."

"Eh… Heh heh, yeah, definitely!" I forge a smile, rubbing the back of my neck. I don't want to tell her that she tried to kill me and Owen. And I don't want to tell her about Owen. That would just complicate things. "She didn't say anything about her phones, but she mentioned something about eggplants."

Compa smiled like the sun. "She told you about that time with the eggplants? You guys must really be close already. I won't ask what she was doing, if that's what you're wondering. It's always top secret, she says when she gets home! If only I were at her rank, then I could be with her more." The peach-haired soldier stares off into the distance, lost in deep thought.

I recline in my seat. I'm not one for talking with a stranger all that much. And especially when that stranger is the enemy.

Compa fiddles with her helmet, and the NPC just stares out the window. If only they knew what they were doing. I wonder if they know what they are fighting for. What are they fighting for? What are they doing here, and how did they get here?

I'm going to find out. I have to find out.

I close my eyes, letting the crunch of snow beneath the car and the hum of the engine sing me to sleep.

* * *

"Wake up, Kiowa. We're here."

It's Sergeant Sandler.

The door is open, and past the Sergeant's hulking figure likes military complex. Stryker armored vehicles were parked in rows beside the humvee, and to the rear was a white single-story building. In front of our humvee was another row of military trucks and vehicles, and beyond that was another single-story building. A wire fence surrounded the complex, and there's probably more here that I can't see from inside the car. Groggy from my nap, I slide out of the vehicle and into the parking lot. The roads here are paved, and it looks like civilization finally decided it didn't want to look like the dystopian future, at least over here.

The sun is fairly low in the sky, telling me that I've slept through a large portion of the day. A few men wear military fatigues pass by, along with a truck towing a porta-potty. I guess the base is still being assembled or expanded, as some more trucks carrying construction materials also drive past.

The car was empty when I got out, so I assume that they left some time ago, and that I slept like a rock. Man, I must really have been tired. But now I feel like I've been born again. I'm completely awake now, and my senses are in overdrive, absorbing the fresh winter air, tinted with the scent of pine needles. The trees surrounding the base are all pine with most to all of their leaves fallen off. The evergreen trees retain their leaves, and make the brown landscape more varied in color. The ground below my feet is concrete, but it's covered in a thin layer of ice and pine needles. Typical of New England.

The Sergeant leads me across the street, parting traffic with a wave of his hand.

"Colonel Matthews wants to see you. I told him what I overheard in the car ride, so he's mostly caught up on your story." He takes me to the building and pulls on the door, opening it for me. I nod in thanks as I step through the doorway. The floor is lined by white tiles and the walls are white. A corkboard sits on the wall on my right, covered in papers. The board holds papers, much like the posters you'd find lining the halls at school, depicting happy soldiers discussing things I find irrelevant at the time like "Who's been swiping my sweetrolls from the mess hall" and "Fuck you Brad", but it just wouldn't be complete without the "National Guard and You- bring your children to work day!" poster with the "Poker Night Saturday for all of Base Newton- except for you Brad!" stapled over it. But aside from the corkboard, the place is really bland. Like, no furniture whatsoever and the doors are labeled very plainly. The hall diverges to another hall on the left further down, and once Sergeant Sandler steps inside he guides me down that path. His footsteps are heavy against the floor, whereas mine are soft.

"Alright Kiowa, the colonel's door is on the left. I'll be out and about, so if you need me just holler 'er keep your eyes open." He sighs and turns back for the exit, briskly and methodically. "Unless I'm heading out again, fuckin'…" He mumbles as he turns the corner.

And I'm left here. In front of the one door that has a sticker on it. Right beside the doorknob is a bright and cheery sticker that reads: Best boss 2016!. It looks like someone had tried to scrape it off with a knife but failed as much of the color is faded in a jagged pattern.

I place my right hand on the doorknob, and use my left to rub the sleep from my eyes. I wonder if my hair looks okay. My hair definitely looks horrible, and I bet that I smell like a shower is in order. They should let me use their facilities here. After all, this is a military base, right? But they were pushing those porta-potties around, so maybe they have field showers. In the cold? Eh. Too much thought. I'm just procrastinating right now. I guess I should just go in and see what happens. What's the worst that could go wrong?

I knock on the door with my left hand, still gripping the doorknob.

"Come in." A man answers to my knock through the door.

I twist the knob and push. I turn around and close the door behind me, and once I face the the Colonel I take in my surroundings. It's another bland room, but this one has a desk with two chairs on my side of it. There are some tall file cabinets to the officer's right, and behind him on the wall is a calendar, tropically themed.

The man looks to be in the late 40's, and is developing grey hairs. But not many, as he still appears to hold a full head of brown. He sits at a comfortable office chair, and he has a computer in front of him and to his left.

"Take a seat." He says. Colonel Matthew doesn't have as much tolerance for civilians as Sergeant Sandler did, and scowls as I pull up a chair and sit. As I do, I see him eyeing my pistol.

"Who let you keep that gun?" He interrogates.

"Sergeant Sandler, sir." I respond, matching his receptiveness.

He blinks. "I'll cut to the chase. My name is Colonel Matthew. I'm in charge of this base, and it seems as though you have a wealth of information that can help me make it to next week's poker night." He sits there, as if he were waiting for me to respond. His hands move to a keyboard on his desk, ready to type. That's also when I notice the little webcam atop his computer's monitor. It's trained right on my face. Is he recording me?

"Alright then, I'll ask some questions and I want you to tell me what you know for an answer." He types something into the computer, then looks at me. "Who is Neptune?"

"From what I know, she is a CPU, or Console Patron Unit in charge of the invading army." That was mostly a guess. But it's an educated guess nonetheless. I hope I'm right.

"Alright." The clicking of the keyboard is the only sound in the tiny white room. "What is a Console Patron Unit?"

"I don't exactly know for myself, but from what I was told they are people possessing superhuman abilities like flight and super strength." My palms start to get sweaty again.

"Mmhm." He hums. He squints at the screen for a moment and then turns back to face me. "Who told you this information, and why?"

I'm going to have to tell them the whole story now, am I? I clear my throat, but the back of my throat gets drier.

* * *

I told him practically everything I know. I hope my information comes into some assistance, but if they have to question some unlucky kid off the street for vital information then that kinda says something about the whole war right here. My tongue is parched, and I can't wait until I can get some water.

The colonel wraps up his typing with a final press of a key. "The Pentagon sends you their thanks." Wait, what? The Pentagon? They must really be desperate for any intel they can get their hands on. I should've known that they were recording me as well, that webcam was a clear indication of something bigger at play here.

"Nathan Kiowa." Colonel Matthews folds his hands together atop the desk. He stares deeply into my eyes with his, a look of duty molding his expression. "Your connections make you very valuable. I'm happy to inform you that there's a good chance that we will retrieve your friend, Owen, if he is still alive."

That last sentence sent a shockwave up to my spine. For good and for bad reasons. Good that Owen will probably be found, but bad because of that "if" surrounding his condition.

"But we are going to need your help."

I knew that there was going to be a catch.

"The world is fucked up beyond all repair. We had suspected the Chinese or Russians up until this point, but it turns out everything is far worse." He takes in a breath at the last word, showing signs that he doesn't really want to talk anymore. But duty calls, am I right? No? Eh, screw off, me.

"The United States is about to call upon people 17 and older to serve. If you got friends who are 16, with parent's permission they can sign up too. You are 17, correct?"

I nod. Oh… Oh you gotta be kidding me! They're making me to join the army? Have we gotten that desperate? I thought we had the best army in the world! What the ass-cheese? I joked about it before and all, but I wasn't saying that I actually wanted to! I got a whole life ahead of me! In front of a computer screen or desk, sure, but still a life! I display no signs of panic as he continues his lecture.

"Personally, your connections make you a special case. The Pentagon agrees with me, and we would like to give to a special role in this fight. If you accept, I'll be able to tell you everything that we know, as it will be vital for your mission. You will also be given an E-5 pay grade, which is just about equal to mine. I'd take up the offer."

That's actually a very tantalizing offer. But they put me between a rock and a hard place. If I don't accept, they'll make me a grunt. But I don't know what I'm doing if I say yes. For all I know I could be sent to scrub toilets in some remote third-world factory somewhere in Detroit! I'm kidding of course, but the threat remains.

"Well?" He says, impatient.

I swallow my fears. This will be better than dying on the front lines, right? "I accept the offer."

"Good." He states. "Now sign here, here and here."

He slides me a damn clipboard. It says that I voluntarily joined up and that whatever happens to me is of my own accord. I sign all the places where they want me to. He slides the clipboard back across the table and into his hands. Satisfied at my signature, he places the clipboard below the table somewhere. Probably an open drawer or something. Then, I after some more shuffling on his part, he pulls out three more magazines for the M9 I have. He slides them across the table to me with his other hand.

I gladly accept the ammunition, sliding the magazines into my pocket. They are cold.

"Alright Kiowa, looks like you're one of us now. Congrats." Colonel Matthews says plainly, not excited in the slightest. "Get ready to throw your life away."

 _Why?_

"Your mission is to go and get the people of some backwater place called Gamindustri to somehow stop the war. Heh. Good luck with that kid. They're all fanatics."

I sit there, just taking everything in.

I'm going to… Gamindustri? That doesn't make sense. What's a Gamindustri? A damn game industry? Is this a joke? _This better be a joke._

"Once we find an opening, that is. We captured and interrogated an enemy pilot yesterday." He reclines his chair, exhaling. "Long story short, they're from a place called Gamindustri. The guys we've seen are from some shithole called Planeptune, but the Pentagon is betting that all the other countries are going to come on down from their dimension or whatever to fuck up more of our shit. We don't know why, but they're still assholes."

The Colonel takes a swig from a green canteen below his desk. Water, I presume. He sets the bottle back down.

"They're coming here through these 'dimensional portals' or some magical shit at specific spots in their occupied territory, and those are going to be your ticket through. But since we don't know where or when they appear, were just going to have to wait until they start popping around or some shit."

I open my mouth to interject and ask a question, but the Colonel doesn't care.

"There's still too many unknowns to make any moves, and there isn't any sort of plan in place right now. We're focusing on stopping the Planeptune Army from getting too big of a foot at Cape Cod with our Navy. The Air Force is decimating them from above but it really isn't enough. As for our Army… Everyone is overseas. We're practically defenseless and that's why we've enacted the draft." He finishes as a matter-of-fact.

I quickly make a move, asking the biggest question on my mind.

"Why are you telling me that last part?" I shift in my seat, nervous at the wealth of responsibilities that I've accumulated.

"I was just getting to that." Colonel Matthews clears his throat and folds his fingers atop the table together again. He is perfectly calm. "Until your assignment, we're still drafting you into the Army. But guess what? You're gonna be a leader, Kiowa!" He points at me, cheering with forged enthusiasm.

I might've just fainted right then and there.


	11. Chapter 10 pt 5

"Hey. Hey, wake up."

A frail boy, no older than 7 years of age, kneeled on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean. The golden glow of the setting sun streamed over the big city to the west, and the moon shone brightly and clearly above the salty waves. His exposed feet dug into the cool, cool sand, making the wet flakes stick between his toes.

The boy kneeled over the motionless body of a man wearing camouflage. The man laid on his right side, his feet on the edge of the icy cold water. As the waves pushed up the beach, his whole leg would be drenched in water, then the frozen water would recede and then he would be pulled gently towards the deep blue. He wore a heavy helmet over his sand-covered hair, and on his back he had a big green backpack holding all sorts of cool looking accessories. They were all wet and cold. The boy knew better than to touch them, his daddy told him that touching things that weren't his was mean. But he had to touch the man, he had to wake up. They were getting close.

"Excuse me, excuse me," The child set his palms over the man's rough face, one scarred by age and war, and pleaded in the only way he knew how. "Excuse me, sir please wake up."

The boy's arms pushed on the man's arm, pushing and pulling to try and wake him up. When the waves came the dent in the sand would be gone, all his impact for naught.

He tugged on the man's shoulder where he bore three bent lines, _stripes_ the boy noted. He had learned about patterns in school last year. His mommy said he was a very smart boy, and yesterday she told him that he was a very brave boy. But when mommy had to go, he didn't feel much like a very brave boy at all. In fact, he felt like a very sad boy. But his mommy told him not to be sad, not ever. So the boy told himself he wouldn't be sad.

The boy pushed and pulled. Whenever his parents were sleeping, this always woke them up.

The man blinked.

The man sat up, but he was weak. The boy would have asked if he was okay, but his daddy didn't like that. Yesterday his daddy said that grown-ups could take care of themselves.

"Oh, hello there." The man said. He sounded like a cowboy. "Where did you come from?"

"My mommy said that we lived in Salem. Where did you come from?" The boy asked in return.

"Me?" The man pointed at his ragged chest with a finger. "I came from Texas. That's a lot further away than salem, y'know."

The boy giggled. He talked funny.

"Are you alright, little fella? What's your name?" The man questioned, getting to his feet. He placed an arm on his left hip. He had a bit of a limp, too.

"I'm good." The boy stated, looking down at his feet with his arms crossed. "My name's Daniel. My friends call me Danny."

"That's good to hear!" The man smiled at Daniel. Daniel wore a striped blue shirt with a collar along with cute little khakis. "My friends call me Sandler, but you can call me David." David leaned down, placing an arm on Daniel's shoulder. "It's best we get ourselves outta here, it ain't safe in the open." David scanned the treeline.

"Hey, are you a soldier?" Daniel nagged, tugging on David's multicam pants.

"I am! How could you tell?"

"Well, my mom says I'm a smart one." He said proudly.

"Now, I'll be darned! I don't come across smart kids too often." David smiled, but winced when Daniel playfully punched his leg. "So, where did you come from? I'll take you to your parents."

"Hmmm…" Daniel thought out loud. "My mommy and daddy told me to go find the soldiers. The people in black were close by." He nodded confidently.

David frowned.

"I see. Are the people in black close?"

"I don't know. They might be that way." Daniel pointed towards the woods. Past the woods there was a highway, and past that, civilization. It was not a very helpful hint.

"We should get a move on now, son." With his left hand, David held Daniel's right wrist, and in his right he held his M9 Beretta semi-automatic pistol. The metal reflected the light of the moon off it's bristling clean sides. David must keep his guns in good shape, Daniel thought.

David tugged Daniel across the sand, leaving prints in their wake. Once they reached the woods, Daniel complained that the ground was too prickly because of the sticks and bushes. David swept his arms down low and scooped up Daniel with both arms as they crossed onto the highway.

The road was devoid of life, cluttered with abandoned cars, layered in snow. David held onto Daniel as they passed over the guardrail and onto the road. He kept on holding onto Daniel as he walked through the empty highway. The stars, just coming out from overhead, twinkled softly across the dark cityscape. Daniel reached out to grab them, and David chuckled. It has a hearty chuckle that made Daniel feel safe.

David limped on, and on, until they reached a big cluster of cars. There was no way through, all the cars had crashed into one another, blocking any avenue of passage. Daniel's feet were getting chilly in the night breeze.

David stood before a red SUV. It had it's windows cracked over and snow piled down inside of it. He was saddened at the thought of Dogoos coming through this area. No one knows how they got here. It wasn't the enemy, that was certain. The monsters were indiscriminate in their attacks. No one was spared.

It wasn't snowing, but the gentle wind picked up the fluffy white dust and trickled it into David's eyes. The man exhaled, a cloud of fog was swept up by the breeze.

And then there was shouting. Lots and lots of shouting.

Woman in black came from behind with their big guns. They terrified Daniel, and he squirmed closer to David as they rushed close.

David hushed the boy, setting him on his tush behind a car. He was cold.

David pulled out his weapon with both hands, his leg wound open to the elements. David fired his weapon in bursts of two, light and sound engulfing Daniel's ears. He was a brave boy. He was a brave boy.

The enemy fired back with cracks of fire. David ducked down behind the car as the high-velocity rounds smashed into the thin metal of their cover. The soldier struggled to reload his weapon before standing back up. His empty magazine clattered on the pavement next to Daniel's leg, and he stared at it.

The enemy was relentless. David reloaded again, this next magazine landing on top of the other. Daniel was scared.

And then David's weapon clicked dry. The slide of the gun was stuck, and he reached for a third magazine only to find none. The shells of the bullets he shot were strewn across Daniel's body, still warm to the touch. Daniel picked one of them up and examined it carefully, close to his chest.

David knelt down beside Daniel. David pulled his bag off his back and set it down on the ground. David unzipped his bag, and pulled a round ball with a pin out of it. He said he was sorry with a tear running down his cheek.

David pulled a little pin out from the ball, and he threw it far away, towards the enemy. It was full of Daniel's hate, Daniel's fear and Daniel's love.

David knelt back down and placed his hands over the boy's ears. He closed his eyes as the ground shook. It gave off a mighty roar, like a dragon.

The soldier released his hands from Daniel's ears shakily. David placed them on his shoulders and said he was so, so sorry.

The man withdrew his heavy arms with sorry, and pulled them close to himself as if he were giving himself a big hug. Then he slowly, ever so slowly raised them above his head. David stood up.

The prisoner stood up. He wasn't proud. He wasn't proud at all. Daniel looked up and saw the stars. He wanted to reach out and pull himself away. Away into the stars.

* * *

There was a woman. A woman with long white hair. She wore black, and she had wings. When Daniel saw them he saw an angel, a savior just like the ones his mommy told him about during story-time.

She wasn't happy.

David was on his knees. He knelt before the angel with the women in black pointing guns at him. A woman in black was pointing a gun at Daniel, too. He was scared. And so was David.

A soldier walked up beside the prisoner. She asked a question.

"What do we do with them, Lady Black Heart?"

The angel bright a single finger up to her cheek. She smiled, relishing in her first victory in a new world. But Daniel didn't know that. He didn't know what ran through that woman's head, and that scared him. He was cold.

The angel levitated there for a while. But then she had an idea, and brought her finger down to her side. She crept from her toes and onto her heels. She stood before her enemy. A shallow yet significant light shone, and now she held a sword. It radiated power and excellence.

She set the weapon against the neck of the prisoner. He shuddered. The prisoner raised his head, he raised it tall, right up so he looked the angel in the eye.

"A trophy." She said. The woman with the wings smirked. She was triumphant. She wanted to savor this moment forever. A token of this moment, she thought, would be perfect.

And she turned her head over to Daniel. His eyes sparkled in the starlight from behind the car. The woman with the sword blinked, her magnificent eyes fluttering in the beautiful, waning light.

* * *

 **I tried something new here, I wonder if the perspective gamble paid off.**

 **Something about children and war really gets to me. They're so naive, they don't know what's even happening. I hope you felt the feeling I tried to implement, and if not, it would be cool to know why- for the future and all.**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	12. Chapter 11

My fucking legs. My fucking arms. And oh fuck, my fucking head.

My forehead hurts like hell. I feel like I was spat into a meat grinder and came out with every limb torn off and put back on again. My arms are stuck under the thin covers of some stupid bed. Where the hell am I?

My eyes sting when I open them. My gut feels like a clothes washer, swirling around in a big fat circle, smearing my insides all over itself with nausea. But that horrible feeling aside, I can tell I'm in a hospital bed. I'm wearing some hospital gown with little purple 'N's all over them as if they were polka dots. There's a sink wedged inside a countertop behind me, and to my left there's a wooden door. On my right there's a wall with two windows, each one with the blinds down so I can't see out. A monitor is directly to my left, sitting on a pole. I think it's telling me about my vitals, as it's showing my heartbeat. It beeps steadily, just like what you'd expect from a machine like that.

But what's in front of me makes me clench my fists. It's that bitch. IF.

She sits in a chair, slumped over a little and giving off a faint snore. Her hair is draped over both sides of her head like a curtain for her eyes. Her blue overcoat seems a little dirty with scratches and dirt- maybe she didn't change since yesterday. Was it yesterday? Was it yesterday when she tried to kill me? Was it yesterday when me and Nate were stuck in the stupid apartment, with him claiming that we could trust that bitch? Oh, I'll fucking gut that bitch with my bare hands. Right now.

I was about to throw the blanket off my body, but I stopped myself. I shouldn't make too much noise. I need the element of surprise if I want to take her on. The blanket is slowly and methodically eased off my body, and I slide myself off the bed. Or at least I try to.

My right ankle is shackled to the bed by a chain.

A fucking chain. It's black and made out of some really shiny metal that's pissing me off. It's almost as if it's taunting me with that gleam. I grind my teeth together in anger, my muscles tensing as I inhale with a hiss.

I've got to get out of here. I've got to get the FUCK out of here! I frantically look to my left and right for any tools I could use to get out. On my left there's a small tray, and above me there's a light that someone would pull down and shine on your chest for surgery. Maybe I could use the light to blind someone when they get close. On the tray there's a needle with some alien pink fluid in it. There's also a jar full of grass for some reason, but it doesn't really look like grass to me. It's sorta like a glimmering grass, it's vibrant and thriving despite being plucked off the ground. Why is it next to me in a hospital? Could it be some alien drug to kill me in my sleep? Are they trying to take my brain over with drugs? Oh, what am I saying. Of course they are!

I reach over with my bare hands and try to grab the jar, but it's too far away. I stretch with all my might, but I still can't reach it from the bed. I'll have to step out if I want to get close.

This could hurt my ankle at the angle that it'll be put in, but I've got to do something. A little twisting is nothing. I ease my bare left leg off the bed and onto the white tiles of the floor, and it's cold to the touch. I reach my hand out again, and this time I grasp the jar firmly. As I reset my body back onto the bed, I accidentally knock the jar against the tray as I pull my arm back, causing a loud banging noise.

IF jolts awake, and darts her gaze across the room in a frenzy before settling down on me. "Oh, Owen! You're finally awake!" She jumps out of her seat and steps towards me.

Oh shit. "Stay back! Fucking- Stay back!" I hold the bottle behind my right ear defensively, ready to break it over her head if she gets too close.

"Look, Owen, I'm not going to hurt you. You need to calm down right now, please just calm down." IF pleads, holding her arms out in front of her cautiously.

"What the fuck does that mean? Where the fuck am I?" I ask, paranoid.

"Alright, I'll tell you everything you want to know. But put the jar down, alright? You're not in any condition to fight."

Taking a deep breath and shuddering a little afterwards, I ease the bottle down to my lap. If she gets any closer she's still getting glass in her eye. "Go ahead, tell me."

"Uhh… for starters, you died a little back here."

I died… a little? What the fuck? How can someone partially die? I clear my throat before speaking cynically. "How can I only die _a little_?"

"I revived you, okay? I used some revival medicine." She looks back at the door, shifting nervously in her stance. "Listen. I brought you to Planeptune's best hospital just in case. You're gonna be fine, I'm sure of it." She says with a nod.

"Now, where's Planeptune?" I snap.

"It's in Gamindustri, my home. I'll take care of anything that comes your way, alright? I'm so, so sorry about the night before. Really!" Her eyes are open wide as she spoke. She brings her arms up to her chest, still fidgeting nervously. Her face is a little red. "And- and I know it's a lot to ask, but…" She diverts her glare and looks towards the door behind her. "If there's a way, and I know that you probably hate me right now, but if it's possible, do you think you could please forgive me?" She looks back up at me, a hopeful look on her face.

Is this a joke. Does she think that my life is funny to her? To think that I would EVER forgive her… No. Nate is probably dead right now, and I'm stuck chained to a bed, all because of her! So with malice, I say it.

Her hands freeze in place. Her legs bent, tilted together. Her face, devastated. Bitch. She deserves it.

"I'm… I'm sorry." She turns away from me, and towards the door. A hand runs through her hair. "I want to help you, I really do. But they're going to take you away from me, and they're not going to ask for forgiveness."

What does she mean by that?! I start to panic, my breath running ragged as my heart rate increases.

"Who are they!?" I tug on the chain with my leg, and the sound startles IF.

IF starts to pace around the room in a circle, constantly fidgeting out of nervousness. "It's… It's Neptune- I-I mean Purple Heart." She corrects herself, squeezing her eyelids shut. "She's coming to force me to fight, okay? I'm sorry. I really am. I really really am." She thrusts her arms out in front of her, trying to reinforce her point. She looks away again, chest tight. "She's coming for you, too."

"No, no she's not fucking going to." You know what, if I use my cards right I can get out of this jam. Nate said that she liked me, right? Fucking hell, maybe she could be manipulated- but I'm not good with words or feelings and shit. "IF, hey, IF." She turns to face me again, hands clutched together with red eyes.

"You can get me out of this, right? Can't you? If you do, I might reconsider my opinion of you. How's that? Canya' earn it?"

Almost cartoon like and shit, I can see a sparkle of life flicker in her eyes. It's the flicker of an ember, ready to die or to be ignited. Right on the border of change. She glances back at the door before facing me again. Her lips tighten together and she nods, but only a little.

"I'm gonna be in deep shit for this…" She mumbles to herself as she slowly pulls out one of her katars. She leans in towards my leg, and I tense up as she moves the blade over to my ankle.

And bam! A sharp clang of metal against metal erupts from my leg, making me flinch. My shackle is cleaved at the part around my ankle with the chains intact and lying on the bed. I throw both my legs over the edge of the bed, but before I bound off, I turn to IF. I doubt I can forgive her for what she's done to me and Nate. No, I never will. But she shows resolve. Someday I may lose my burning hatred for her, but that day so so fucking far away.

"Earn it." I nod at IF, eyes unflinching. I return to the task at hand and throw myself off the bed. "Forgive yourself." A part of me hopes that she will find a way to forgive herself. For all of humanity, for all that she's done to me. For all that's being done.

The monitor is hooked up to me by a ring on my index finger and a few pads on my chest, under the hospital gown. I peel off the pads and the ring, tossing them onto the bed. A feeling of hope returns to me, and the sickly feeling in my chest is gone, replaced by that of duty and adrenaline. It's time for me to get the fuck out of here.

* * *

The door opens with a groan, and a black and purple body blocks my exit. My heart plummets like a boulder as I turn to face the intruder.

"Here I was, about to congratulate you, IF, and then this? Planeptune's very first prisoner of war, cut loose by one of the CPU's most trusted friends? This will be horrible for PR, _Iffy_. Tsk, tsk, tsk."

I take a step back, the newcomer radiating power. Radiating light, beauty and grace. I'm not one for the subtleties, but she definitely deserves recognition.

Gracefully long and free flowing purple braids trail from the base of her head, meshing splendidly with the long purple dress she wears, briefly exposing her long legs and chest. If there is a standard for human perfection, this just might be it.

I freeze in place, and IF stands before the tall woman with trepidation. The woman taps on the hospital floor with her high-heeled gem as if it is not good enough for her. It is the knell of my life, and the beginning of something completely new for IF. That much I can tell.

" _Lady Purple Heart_. I didn't expect you to arrive so early." IF stands tall, instantly regaining composure.

"Cut the chit-chat Iffy. This transgression can be forgiven." Purple Heart speaks, and my heart trembles as if it were being held up by a spring. "Don't forget, you're returning to the front by tomorrow. You have a job to finish."

She turns to face me. Her eyes are crystal clear, the symbol of power nestled within them. Literally.

"You… Owen, is it not?" The Lady steps boldly over to the windows, extending her clear arms out to them. "Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Planeptune, land of purple progress." And in a dramatic show of might, she throws the blinds open to the side, letting in the powerful sunlight and the view of a whole new world. A city like no other, skyscrapers tickling the clouds in a way that puts New York to shame. It's a level of appeal that you wouldn't get by any ordinary city, with boring streets filled with filth and chaos. This, this is pure. Pure and clean, a pattern of walkways and streets and people and bright, sunny cheeriness. A place untouched by that of war. If Purple Heart is the Goddess, then this is her heaven. Like home, home before the pain, before IF and before Goddesses.

She stares into my eyes. "Please, do not be afraid or intimidated when I called you a prisoner of war. Poor child, you must have no idea what's going on, do you? Don't worry," she runs a hair through her hair, bringing one of her braids to her chest. "You don't need to know. All you need to know is that the Basilicom will be your new home. Your past life is behind you, the only thing that you'll have to worry about is being bored." She chuckles. "And you will never, ever be bored again."

Alright. Alright. Let's speed it up a little bit. This crazy bitch, who I have no idea is, wants me to be a fucking pet or some shit? Fuck no. I wouldn't be surprised if she's the one who released those monsters on us. Hell, the only way I'm ever going to be her pet is if she kills me and stuffs me. And there'll be hell to pay before that happens. I'm gone, assholes.

"Sayanora, fuckers!" I snark, darting out of the open door with a smirk on my face.

Damn it. It was worth a shot.

* * *

All of them were just kids. Not a single soul was older than twenty. Each one of them held a different tragic backstory in their recent past, but each one had the same fire in their eyes. The recruits held the ingredients to become a fighter but lacked the training to use those ingredients effectively. That was why they were at Camp Weasley, a training facility in New Hampshire that refined their experiences and turned them into soldiers.

For the first week, the instructors put them all to work, disciplining them by filing them into formations and having them carry out PT, or physical training. During the day they trained with their bodies, and in the afternoon they trained with their brains in the classroom. There they acquired skills such as the army core values, wilderness survival and military maneuvers. On some days, they would venture out into the foggy mountains of New Hampshire and put their physical skills to the test on an obstacle course, and on others they would return to the classroom to have their knowledge evaluated. Every single second from 0600 to 2200 was occupied, leaving the young recruits mentally and physically drained.

On the second week, they finally got their hands on the M4 Carbine. Their weapon was a tool, a machine that had to be carefully maintained and used only by an artisan. They took a crash course in the M240B, a light machine gun that was almost too heavy for most of the teens, the M9 Beretta pistol that would eventually become their weapons of last resort, various military accessories and finally the M2 Browning heavy machine gun for when they would be assigned it. They were not expected to use any other weapons in the field nor was there any more time in the two weeks to teach them to use any others. But it was deemed a 'satisfactory' course for the draftees by the Pentagon. Coupled with the severity of the situation, it was an acceptable training regimen.

By the end of those two weeks, Nathan changed. The instructors drilled him and many others alike to endure stress and remain calm under extreme circumstances. He didn't turn out to be an efficient leader as they needed him to be during several leadership exercises, but that would have to change. And fast. Unlike most of the other recruits graduating at facilities across the country, Nathan was to attend an Advanced Individual Training course.

He was to become a specialist in psychological operations, the art of influencing the enemy mind. Demoralize them and convince people to stop fighting. He crammed evasion tactics and culture appropriation skills along with the art of the negotiation, the tools he will need in order to one day bring an end to this brutal war. In his case, however, he would be without a team, he would be without intelligence and he would be deep in enemy territory.

So they added another week for AIT.

...Times were tough. People were needed on the field.

And so, Nathan Kiowa was assigned to gain field experience by taking command of a small patrol in a remote region of Northern Vermont, right on the Canadian border.

They had received rumors from the Canadians of alien drones being used along the frozen border, and Nathan needed to put an end to it. And maybe even find out why.

* * *

The situation on the front lines was changing. Those three weeks while Nathan was in training didn't stop the war; a pause was not an option for Gamindustri.

IF was put in charge of an infantry division in a classified spot in southeastern Canada, tasked to find a possible landing spot for another front to open up. She needed to find Kyanite, the sole driving force behind the invasion. However, a few days after her abrupt return to Planeptune, Compa was listed as MIA. IF held personal goals as well, as Compa was rumored to be somewhere far in the northeast.

Planeptune realized that the New England Campaign was moving far too slow. Purple Heart ordered a landing at San Francisco, and it only took four days for the city to fall to an overwhelming numerically superior force. The people back home weren't pleased. Too many lives lost, and not enough of Purple Heart's "Purple Progress". Nepgear was stuck back at the Basilicom, assisting Histoire with whatever that the oracle needed. Mentally and physically.

Lastation had a better idea. Noire was late to the party, but she couldn't afford to be bogged up in an arduous offensive like her rival. Instead, she led small incursions deep into the heartland of the States, landing her forces at sources of Kyanite to obtain the crystal before leaving. Holding no ground allowed her army to be used all at once rather than on an occupation. Uni was also deployed to the field for a time, but she was sent back home after she was reported to have been "excessively expressive and temperamental".

As for Leanbox and Lowee, they had discovered the existence of Kyanite too late. Blanc concluded that intervening at this stage wouldn't be fast enough to extract the vital resource before her rivals did. Therefore, she communicated with Vert. Together, they decided to pool their resources and make a desperate scramble for the mineral on continents other than North America. Vert took on Europe, and Blanc ventured into Asia. Rom and Ram, as opposed to the other candidates, were put under strict house arrest. This time, the guard was dispatched to make sure Blanc's rule was imposed. There was no time for mischief.

They each knew that time was against them. They had to get the resource back to their country first. Whoever would be first to introduce a sharicite to the new world would become unstoppable. For their pride and for their safety, each of them needed to be the first.

If they had to fight one another in the process, _oh well._

The friendship treaty was off.

* * *

 **Shorter chapter this time, I'm feeling _motivated_. Also, sorry for the exceptional authors note here, I just want to say a few things. **

**I'm assuming that you're all screaming _Gee, where's the action? I came here for some good ol' anti-Goddess action!_ That's why I wanted to get a move on and skip a content-heavy training chapter, I'm a little tired at the pace as well. **

**Be ready for the second book. I want to try and make it a standalone fic depicting Nathan in Gamindustri. There's still a bunch of story left in this one as we're not quite there yet, but that one will feature much less OC-types and it will be more friendly towards the rest of the HDN community, as I'd like to appeal towards the larger crowd.**

 **Any thoughts?**


	13. Chapter 12

"To think everyone has to die for anyone to matter, that's… That's what keeps me up at night." Private Dunbar whimpered from the back seat of the Humvee. We're riding along a poorly maintained road in the middle of the snow-covered forest. We're heading north, towards this country town surrounded by farmland and hills. It's quiet there, so I don't quite understand why they would be targeted by any sort of enemy. Dunbar is only 16 years old. His helmet is almost too big for him, but fortunately for him, since he has a fairly heavy build, his uniform fits at the very least. "Well… that's what I heard in a song."

"All that junk from your song shit doesn't matter. But at least you're not as bad as Corporal White, eh? Right, lieutenant?"

The man next to him was Private Elijah. He was once a wrestler on a high school team, or at least that's what he told me. He's another big guy, older than me, and he's more muscle than any of all of us four, so I don't mess with him. Elijah is also a Vermont native, so he knows these woods well. To some extent. The way he presents himself makes him seem too much like a jock from school, and it there's one thing the army's taught me is that it's just like one big locker room. That is, until the big shots start arriving. Like me, apparently.

I don't comment on Elijah's crude remark. I have nothing against Dunbar or White, they're both good people in my eyes, just forced into some horrible circumstances. Corporal White sits next to me with his helmet off, staring out the window. He brought earbuds with him from wherever he came from, the lucky bastard. Some part of me would gladly trade something for them, but then again, I'm not sure if I want anime themed earbuds on my person. I have an image to uphold, and not that I have anything against those Japanese cartoons, but I have to be an authority figure to those around me, Elijah included; he would kill me if gets any dirt on me. But I just have to be glad that they haven't asked how I got to where I am.

Corporal White didn't tell us his exact age, but I can tell that he's around my age. He doesn't talk much, and prefers to keep to himself. I don't even know if White is his real last name, as far as I know he could've just said that's what his name was.

"Right, lieutenant?" The troublemaker snarks again, eyebrows leveling out.

"Private Elijah, stop antagonizing your teammate." I sigh, tired from driving for so long. The road is bumpy and uneven due to the snow, and it's hard to maneuver the car like this. I'm glad it's not snowing at the least. It's not windy either, making the temperature seem a lot warmer than it used to be.

"What a buzzkill, Kiowa." Elijah says, caressing his plain M16A4 rifle over his lap.

Dunbar hums to himself a song only he knows, fumbling with the straps on his vest. The army gave us the new Scorpion W2 camouflage to wear, and it's green-tan color scheme doesn't really look all that concealing in the winter environment we're in. Thousands of leafless trees pass me by as we pick up speed. We should be getting close to the town by now, so I reach a hand over to the radio hooked up to my chest rig. I pull it out and move it beside by face to speak.

"Papa Bear, this is Foxtrot Platoon leader calling, we're closing in on the target location, how copy? Over."

Static-laced words emit from the radio. "Foxtrot, this is Papa Bear, we read you. Let us know if anything of note pops up, out." It's actually a little funny, to be honest. We're only a four man patrol and yet command is calling us a platoon- a unit size much larger than four people.

On that note, I slide my radio back into it's spot on my chest rig. As I do so, the humvee finally passes through the woods and out into the open. The trees have been cleared for farmland long ago, and a wooden fence made of logs lines the road. The ground is relatively flat with some hills off to our right, and the only thing worth noting is the town up ahead. It's made up of white-colored wooden houses with a few brick ones mixed in, and a tall church steeple towers up above in the center of the rural community.

Upon passing the first few buildings, I slow down. The street is fairly well shoveled here, making it easy to drive. I'm still a novice at driving, and the fact that there's a flat road is a huge relief. Looking out the window, I can spot a few people looking out of their own windows at us before throwing the curtains down, as if we were not supposed to be here. This is kinda creeping me out…

Not a single soul is out on the street. It's completely deserted, and I hear Dunbar mumble something about a ghost town to himself.

I pull the car over on the side of the road at the edge of a three-way intersection. To the left the road extends far before dipping further to the left, past a school and a playground. My hands reach for the door as I exit the car, my boots slapping the derelict street. With my rifle snug in my arms, I shut the door behind me.

"Jeez, did everyone decide to take a holiday today or somethin'?" Elijah says as he drags himself out of the car. He is followed by Private Dunbar, who responds softly.

"I would, knowing what's happening in the news. You know, I heard they started raiding small towns like these. In, and out. You wonder what that's about?"

I turn around, scanning the houses. Some people are staring at us from behind the glass. Cautiously, I approach the front door of a house that appears to be occupied.

"Lieutenant Kiowa?" Dunbar asks, curious.

"Guys, on me." The rest of Foxtrot, including White who was the last to exit, circles around the door. "Dunbar, you watch the rear, the rest of you, just let me do the talking." I command, and Private Dunbar shrugs, turning towards the road. I'm not exactly used to the instructing stuff, I tend to be the guy who hops around and follows orders like a little rabbit, but I don't have a choice now. People are looking up to me, and I can't let them down.

I face the door again, raising an arm to knock. Before I do, however, the occupant opens up before I have to do anything.

She's an aging woman with grey hair, wearing a cream-colored sweater and a long velvet skirt. The woman waves at me frantically, ushering us inside. "Come in, quickly now!" She croaks, stepping aside to let us in. Surprised at this, I step inside alongside the rest of my team.

She shuts the door behind Dunbar, and we find ourselves inside her living room. It reminds me of the apartment where I tore the curtain down, back with Owen. A fireplace roars across from us, and in front of it is an old rocking chair, reminiscent of times past.

"Oh, you young boys must be cold! I'll have Lisa fetch the tea." She steps out in front of us, towards the fireplace. "Lisa? Lisa! Lisa we have guests!"

"Coming mumma!" The voice of a prepubescent child rings out from upstairs. I hear footsteps race down like a machine gun on my right, and out pops a girl from around the corner. She has brown hair, all bunched up into a little ponytail. When she sees us, she pauses for a moment then smiles. I smile back, but she's already gone off to the kitchen, somewhere off to my left.

"Oh, she's the sweetest little thing, isn't she?" She turns her head to look into my eyes. "My, I've nearly forgotten to introduce myself! My name is Margaret, Margaret Victoria." She nods gently.

"My name is Lieutenant Kiowa, thank you for inviting us into your home."

"I assume you're here to help us with our little spying issue?" She says, shuffling over to her chair by the fire. The fire flickers, light tickling my legs and sending shadows throughout the living room. "Please do sit down. And don't worry about the rug," She waves a hand. "I'm going to have it cleaned by next wednesday anyway."

I look back at Elijah who just raises an eyebrow. White is as cold as ever, and he walks right past me and over to a spot on the couch, across from Miss Victoria. I follow him, and settle down next to him as the other two find seats near the old woman.

"Yes, we're actually here about that." I look around the room, examining the various antiques across the walls. "Could you help us by telling us what you know about those spies?" I say, not quite sure how to phrase it.

"Oh, without a doubt! Those damn reds, I always knew they were up to no good. No one trusted me, too! They've gone and finally done it. They got their little spy drone-doohickeys out in the woods, those damn cowards!" She snarls with spite. "I lost my only son to them out in 69', peace be upon him, and I always knew that those damn reds'll come back! I knew it!"

She arches her neck up, and towards the kitchen. "Lisa, Lisa dagnabit! Lisa I told them so, didn't I?"

The country girl calls from the kitchen. "Yes mumma, you sure did!"

My hands wrap around the barrel of my rifle, a little concerned. Miss Victoria doesn't really seem to be all fun and apple pie. Nor does she appear to be the sharpest tool in the shed. I'd have to say that this is the strangest woman I've met, not counting IF or Peashy.

"Well!" She looks over at Dunbar, who recoils in fear of her glare. "They took my son at 18 years. Did you know that? I knew that they'd start nabbing them early, that I did. She clicks her tongue. "You poor, poor souls. Don't you know there's a war going on?"

As the woman was about to continue, Lisa comes out from the kitchen with a tray in her arms.

"It's about time Lisa!" Margaret snaps. "Our guests must be tired after all your drivin', right? Those nasty communist bastards! Taking em' so young."

"Yes, mumma." Lisa sets down the tray of tea at a decorative coffee table in front of us, and steps back. Margaret glares at her.

"Go on, git! Didn't your poppa teach you your manners?"

"Yes, mumma!" She recoils, ashamed, as if she were about to be struck. She hobbles back up the stairway, and Miss Victoria sighs.

"A pity, that one. Her poppa passed only two weeks ago, snatched by Charlie out by the woods. Like they did to my son. Oooh, damn those Gook bastards!" She's almost in tears. It's unsettling to see a woman her age act the way she is, all emotional and upset.

She bends her head down towards her lap, and I think something might be wrong with her. Of course, I've been speculating for a while now but it only really came to me now that she's getting temperamental. "Margaret," I say tentatively, showing her my palm. "Do… Do you remember who I am?"

"I-" She looks up, eyes red. "I… You… You're Sergeant Harrison, aren't you? You're the one… You sent my son to die, didn't you! You send my boy to Nam', didn't you?" She shakes in her chair, fuming. "You're the one who killed him! You killed my boy! Damn it Harrison! Damn you!"

She picks up a cup of tea off the table swiftly for her age, and holds it threateningly in her hand, some liquid spilling out and onto the rug.

"Miss Victoria! Mis Victoria! I'm not Sergeant Harrison. I'm Lieutenant Kiowa, I'm here to help you with your spying problem. Lisa just served us tea. You're safe-"

"Like hell I'm safe!" She screeches and tosses the cup behind me, shattering on the ground. Corporal White leans forward, gripping his rifle. "You know damn well they're gonna snag the whole town like Harrison did to my boy!"

She shudders, and eases back into her chair, mouth curled up into a truly heart wrenching frown. "My boy… Lieutenant Kiowa, was it?" I nod, sympathy in my eyes. "In all honesty, they aren't reds. Not at all." She takes a deep breath, pushing herself further into her chair. She's not proud of something. "I don't know what's wrong with me, boy. I don't know. I just keep seeing those damn squint-eyes in the woods- I-I'm going crazy!"

"It's alright Margaret, you lost your son. That's very traumatic, and I completely understand what you're going through." I affirm, not losing eye contact. "If you can tell us more about those attackers, we can help you. I can get you a doctor, I'm sure of it." That last part was a lie.

"Well- well aright. I'll do my best. I'm terribly sorry for snapping like that, I just don't know what's gotten into me." She holds back a sob, placing a hand on her forehead. "I'll just start from the beginning, alright?" She coughs, setting her arms over her lap. After a few seconds of recovery, she begins softly.

"They came like shadows in the night. Around two weeks ago I saw the first spaceship pass somewhere by the hills. It was big, with a nasty purple mark on the side. My memory eludes me, but I could swear it looked like some jagged lines. Like a letter! So, the first few days in, nothing happened. Then we started seeing these little 'metal eyes' come out of the forest. They came through town, sometimes hovering from way up high and looking down at us. Other times they would sweep through the town like a bird! People got scared, shops that weren't closed already shut down. A few days later, people started disappearing. If you went downtown you ran the danger of disappearing. Soon enough, the town just emptied. No one was left on the streets unless you were insane or had a death wish. I was beginning to lose hope that we would ever receive help, but then you showed up! Boy, am I glad that you're here. I just can't take the silence anymore!"

Elijah perks up. He leans on his gun, it's long barrel extending up to his chest. He speaks confidently. "Our job is to keep the peace, Ma'am. When something goes down, just ring us up."

"Goody!" She arches her back, and prepares to stand up. "I'd best send you on your way, then." Private Dunbar stands up and helps her to her feet like a gentleman. I should compliment him on that later. We all get to our feet, blood rushing to our heads, and shuffle behind the old lady as she guides us to the door.

She exits the room, and steps outside with slippers slapping the cold concrete. "Boys, take your car down the road and then take the first right. Just keep going down that road, and the woods will be right there. Stay safe." She says, ending on a rather sad tone. I wonder what's up with her. Both because of her health and because of her situation.

I wave goodbye and leave with a short farewell, along with each of us thanking her for the tea that none of us drank. We enter the car and follow her directions, driving down the road until we reach the intersection. I'm about to turn right when something catches my eye. Elijah beats me to it, ordering me to stop the car.

"What do you see, Elijah?" Private Dunbar leans over Elijah's lap in an effort to see out his window, but the older man pushes him away.

"Keep the car steady, Kiowa. That thing matches the old lady's description." I still don't quite see what he's seeing, but I assume it must be one of the enemy drones. He clambers out of his seat and towards the center of the humvee, where there's a spot where you can stand up and out of the vehicle. He pops out of the top, the hatch hitting the back of the vehicle with a loud clang. Mounting up top is a M2 Browning heavy machine gun, loaded for bear and ready to rain hell.

I keep the key in the ignition as I step out of the car. Elijah pumps the charging handle of the gun back, it delivering a satisfying click to my ears. He thrust the rear of the weapon down, pointing the barrel up and into the sky. I hold my gun up to my shoulder, and then the Private opens fire.

A burst of loud cracks whizzes past my head, and streak towards an orb suspended above the road. He fires again, this time sending sparks and pieces of junk flying in all directions. He shoots into the sky again, and this time the machine erupts into an explosion of blue pixels. Strange. I didn't expect a man-made thing to explode like that. Maybe it's not man made. But if it's a spy drone that just wouldn't make sense, as in that case it wouldn't be a monster and therefore shouldn't die like that.

"Cease fire, Elijah." I say, not taking my eyes off the sky. I hope there aren't any more of them out there. Maybe they were probing our capabilities with that drone.

"You got it boss."

I reach for my radio, but instead of holding it up to my head, I pull a wire from the left side of my helmet and plug it into the radio. That should direct the sound from the radio to a headphone-like tool on my left. I pull a microphone down as well, and press a button on my left earpiece.

"Papa Bear, this is Foxtrot. We just encountered an enemy spy drone, it has been neutralized but a threat remains. We're heading to clear what we believe to be the source to the north, over."

I immediately receive a response. "Copy that Foxtrot. Proceed with caution. We have MLRS artillery on standby loaded with HE and smoke, call us if you need it. We are designating a 'point X-Ray' on your map, grid follow." I scramble for my map and spread it out on the hood of the vehicle as Papa Bear reads off the coordinates. I mark it with a dot on the map. It's the very end of the road, which is lost somewhere not far into the woods. "We'll check in in fifteen mikes, how copy? Over."

"Foxtrot copies all, out." I pull the map back into my pocket, and step back into the vehicle. Elijah slips back into his seat as I do so without a word. "I just spoke to command, we're still moving up."

"Aww, but I wanted to go home!" Elijah complains, mocking Dunbar's naive disposition.

"Shut it Elijah, or you're volunteering for latrine duty for two weeks." I threaten. Latrine duty is self explanatory, as when we're away from the base, someone from the company needs to take care of our mess. It's not necessarily cleaning toilets as there isn't any toilets on the move, but rather just picking up after everyone else's crap during chow.

He grumbles in protest, but nothing more. Corporal White smiles.

We resume driving, and not much happens until we reach the edge of the forest. The dark brown brush is layered in a shroud of mystery, light struggling to gain a foothold the deeper you go in. I step out of the car, and the rest of Foxtrot follows.

* * *

"Commander IF, we have company." A scrawny military official alerts IF, who is currently sitting at her desk. IF sits up straight, and looks around the dimly lit interior if the hovercraft. It's walls are cramped and the ceiling is low giving it the semblance of an aquatic ship.

"What is it now?" IF complains, pulling herself to a presentable manner in a hassle, irritated from the lack of rest recently. She had almost fallen asleep on the job again, which would not bode well as she is the one in charge of this whole operation.

"It appears as if the local military has been dispatched to investigate us. We just lost a class B drone to small arms fire, and we don't think that they pose much of a threat. There are four draftees accompanied by a light armoured car. Should we deploy swarmer drones?"

IF waved her hand in disapproval of her assistant's suggestion. "No need, no need. I think it would be best to send out Virtue squad, they've been itching for a fight, haven't they?"

"Good point, Commander." The woman nods, her cap nearly slipping off her head. "I shall order them to advance on the enemy, it'll be done in no time at all." She backpedals into the hall behind her, swiftly turning and marching down to the control room to dispatch the soldiers. IF sighs a sigh of relief. She wasn't expecting any company, despite the fact that they were in enemy territory for so long.

She decided to indulge herself. By that, she means watch what's happening through a spy drone, of course! On IF's desk is a tablet, one strikingly similar to an iPad. She holds it up in front of her and switches it on, taking control of a model E nearby and moving it to the edge of the woods. From her position just above the tips of the trees, she can see everything from the comfort of her chair.

Then her tablet began buzzing. Someone was trying to contact her through Sknep, a relatively secure form of communication between dimensions and popular across Gamindustri. It was Purple Heart herself, most likely checking in on her. Well, it would be rude to deny Neptune's call, now wouldn't it?

She taps on the green button to accept the call, and a live video pops up on her screen. It's a little hazy due to her remote location, but it's a good enough picture for the Commander.

"Why hello there _Iffy_!" The Goddess mocks. "You've been keeping yourself well I see."

"I have, Neptune."

"Good! Nepgear here wants to check up on you, but I decided I'd butt in, I do have the time to check in with a good friend after all." Purple Heart steps back, out of the way of the camera. She's in her old room that she shared with Nepgear a while back, the bunk beds still intact surprisingly. IF felt a pulling sensation in her chest, an emptiness at the sight. Neptune used to be so carefree and bubbly, but it all seems like a distant memory now. A happy one, sure, but since Histoire figured out how to keep her in Goddess form for long periods of time, Neptune decided to never change back. It was a shock to everyone, but her mature personality decided that it was best to maintain productivity and work more. Her decision also led to the eventual dissolution of the Friendship Treaty and a more despotic Neptune. IF would do anything to get the old Neptune back. Who knows what could happen from a simple reversion.

Nepgear popped out of the other side of the screen.

"Hey Iffy!" She greeted, and IF smiled. Nepgear didn't change much at all, despite the added workload that she held. "I thought you might be lonely out there, so it would only be nice to say 'hi'. What's up, IF?"

"Oh nothing much Nepgear. Same old, same old. We've been getting some good surveillance done, but we haven't seen anything out of the ordinary. Y'know, this place is a rather good landing sight for our troops, as there really isn't a military presence here. But that just depends on if we can spare the manpower, after all. How have you been holding up?"

Nepgear beams, face a golden ray of sunshine in the bleak world If was in. "I've actually been fantastic! Sis got me a cool new robot set to tinker with, but aside from that nothing new. Actually, Histoire thinks that she might be able to make a sharicite soon! I don't know how long, but Histoire says she's making really good progress."

IF reclined in her chair, at ease. "That's good. I'm glad we can get this over with soon enough." IF's face slowly flips to a frown.

"What's wrong IF? Tired of fighting? I bet you're getting all sorts of action out there! I'd love to trade places with you, but sis wants me back here."

Purple Heart passes by the screen and towards the exit of Nepgear's room. "I'll take my leave now, I got work to do. Nice seeing you, Iffy."

The Commander sighs, giving Nepgear her full attention. "That's what I'm not happy with, Gear. I can't stand the fighting."

"Oh."

"It's really getting to me. Like, they've run out of soldiers to fight us. Those Earth people, they've sent a team of kids to fight me just now. Kids, Gear. One of them is a fraction of my age, damn it! I don't get why we've still kept ourselves in the dark. I just want Neptune to start demanding their surrender, or at least just introducing ourselves to them."

"Iffy, I'm sorry. I don't really… get it. We're winning, right? Sis said to me that the more the enemy struggles, the better off we are. Now isn't the time to sympathize, right? Keep fighting Iffy."

IF looks away from the camera. "I guess you're right. The war is just getting to me, that's all. That's all." IF says faintly.

Nepgear still looks puzzled. She's been eating up all of Neptune's propaganda, hasn't she? IF thought. If Gear were here, if anyone were here, they'd understand. They haven't seen what she's seen. They haven't done what she's done.

"Commander IF!" A woman calls out from the doorway, garnering IF's attention. "Please be advised, Virtue team is entering combat." The woman disappears back into the hall.

"Iffy, you said some men are trying to mess with you? Do you mind if I watch?" Nepgear pleaded.

IF was iffy about this. It might end in a failure which would look bad for IF, or it could be a massacre and horrify 'Gear. Hesitantly, IF responds. "Alright Gear, feast your eyes upon Earth warfare. It's much different than fighting back on Gamindustri." At least, the enemies were much easier to kill. That made it different. It was all one-sided. "I'm letting you plug into the drone feed… now."

* * *

"Uhh, Kiowa, I think I see something." Dunbar stands behind the open door of the Humvee, squinting towards the woods. As I match is gaze, I see nothing but shadows playing tricks on me.

"Alright, alright." I take a deep breath. I don't know what's out there, so we need to be careful. "Elijah, get on the gun. White, go and get down behind that boulder back there." I point to a four foot tall stone in the snow, some distance behind us. Corporal White jogs back, weapon in hand. "Eyes open, everyone."

I jog behind the Humvee, my gun pointing around the left side of the car. I sweep the forest with my eyes one more time, seeing nothing.

I press onto my headset to speak, but then I spot a shadow jump from behind a tree and to the treeline. "Command, we have contact with hostiles!" I release the earpiece, and smack the back of the car with my rifle. "Elijah, fuck'em up!"

He happily obliges, spraying a constant wave of bullets downrange. They smash the bark and rip through the bare bushes, sending bits of woods exploding in all directions. I take aim at a silhouette behind a tree and squeeze the trigger.

Each round I fire kicks my shoulder with fire. However, just a few seconds into first contact, the enemy begins to shoot in retaliation. A good spray of powered metal hammers into the car beside my face, so I pull myself back into cover, panting heavily.

I don't know if I got anyone with that salvo, so I peek around the corner again, popping off a few more shots.

The air is thick with the sounds of combat, and in the midst of all the gunfire I can hear a scream.

A handful of blood is sprayed into my open eyes from above. "Fucking hell, they got me! Those fuckers got me!" When I look up, Elijah's whole left shoulder is practically gone and his bone breathes the stinking scent of gunpowder. "F-F-FUUUUCK!" Elijah exclaims, letting go of the heavy machine gun and cowering over his exposed flesh.

"Damn it Elijah, get down! Inside the car, dammit!" I scream as a round shatters the left bumper of the car, sending chunks of armor behind me.

Private Elijah doesn't speak, but I hear another splat of bullets impacting the body, causing me to recoil in alarm. Did I get hit? No, it was Elijah. He's out for good this time, as a huge chunk of his jaw is gone.

"Dunbar, toss frags!" I order, but the young private is too shocked to listen. I flip to the other side of the vehicle as White lays down covering fire. Dunbar is frozen in place, completely taken aback at the death of his comrade. "Fuck-" I bolt around the corner, taking the kid by his collar.

I shake him, but he still doesn't respond. Instead, he turns away from the enemy and looks at me with cold eyes, seeing right through my head. His weapon is stuck in the snow as if he dropped it, and in his right hand he holds onto an iPod. One of those old ones. Why he has it right now, I have no clue.

With both hands, I gather my strength and throw him inside the open car to try and save him, and as I do so a line of bullets destroys the glass of the humvee's front window. I only hope that Dunbar is okay.

I swing back around as almost a dozen women in black shove more shots in my direction. Two of them slap the back end of my chest armor, somehow holding firm in the face of advanced weaponry. My breath is blown out of me, and I stumble back against the protection of the humvee. Elijah's blood stains the snow in front of me.

This isn't working. I'm certain that the only weapon that would work against those aliens was the 50. Cal, and Elijah is dead. It's not safe to risk using it, and I just pull my gun tighter to my chest. This is it, isn't it? I'm completely exposed here behind the car. They can get me from three sides. I can only fire from one, and despite them supposedly being crack shots with their guns, it's taken far too long for them to overwhelm us. I assume that White's suppressing fire is keeping them at bay.

That is, until a shower of gunfire smashes against the rock, forcing him back under cover.

I'm on my own now. Keep it together, Nathan. I can take them on. I shake my head hastily. Nope, nope nope.

But then I remember about support options. That bigass artillery gun is awaiting my word, right? Maybe this will break their advance.

I scramble for the earpiece, keeping myself pinned against the center of the vehicle's side.

With fear in my eyes, I speak loud and clear.

"Break-break, this is platoon commander calling!" I close my eyes, thinking. "Fire mission, target left two-hundred add one-hundred from point X-Ray. Repeat, left two-hundred add one-hundred from point X-Ray." My eyes are jolted open by a smoke grenade popping off somewhere in front of the vehicle. "Artillery, high explosive, fire for effect! Over!" I take a deep breath, squeezing my wide eyes shut. "We're down two men and fucked. Just fucked! G-Give'em hell, out!" I retract my arm back to my rifle. I face the left side of the vehicle, and one of the soldiers in black storms my position, weapon raised. She looks me in the eye as she kicks up the snow. I flinch.

White's rifle sounds off, taking the girl by surprise. She's pelted on her face and upper chest several times, skin unable to bear the damage any longer and breaking- finally sending foreign blood into the snow. She collapses mid sprint, falling face first into Elijah's red fluid as her weapon slips into the white.

"Damn- Thanks, White!" I stammer towards the soldier.

"No problem." He snaps, ducking under enemy return fire, causing both of us to pull back into cover.

With renewed vigor, I level my rifle to my right. I can hear another one of them coming up on me. Nevermind, I hear multiple footsteps push through the snow. With that information, I rush for a grenade, pulling the pin. Once I see the first soldier pop into view, I toss it out.

"Foxtrot, five rounds out, danger close!" My radio crackles. The grenade seeps into the snow at the feet of the enemy. I duck down, and then an explosion sends snow into the air, along with limbs of the enemy. They impact the ground as my head spins. "Splash, over."

Oh shit. I don't know if I'm safe next to this vehicle. Once that ordinance goes off, nothing is safe for two kilometers, and this car is gone. With that in mind, I clench my teeth. The smoke from the grenade blast should cover my sprint to White, shouldn't it? No matter, I'm dead if I stay here. I pick up my legs of spaghetti and throw myself out of cover, leaving behind Private Dunbar.

One. Two. Three. The jog pushes my exhausted legs to the limit, each step pounding through the deep snow. Four. Sweat dampens my clothes, sticking the cold uniform to my skin. I leap forwards and behind the rock, my rifle being tossed haphazardly into the snow. Five.

Then all hell breaks loose.

A rumble, then the biggest boom of my life.

The earth below me crumbles as the trees die in a whirlwind of death. The MLRS's submunitions send chunks of the forest away as if it were child's play. In a matter of seconds, the world is gone.

A tree trunk flies over my head and into the town limits, rolling down the shallow hillside. Rocks and dirt are also propelled towards the buildings, smashing into the walls and dirtying the fairly clean sidings.

I look up. My face is burning from the cold. I wipe the snow off my face and shakily rise to my feet. White sits with his back against the rock. I wonder if his ears are alright. I can hardly believe that the rock kept us alive, we must have been right in the edge of the blast zone.

I see nothing.

The forest has been churned with it's upside down, the trees have all been snapped like toothpicks and sent flying away. Shrubbery lies in piles of nothingness, debris extending for all that the eye can see. At the very least, all of the woods lies ready for us to investigate. I'm exaggerating a little, but nothing can quite describe what I'm seeing with simple words. For those, I'm at a loss.

"It's all dead, Lieutenant." The corporal states blankly, resting his arms against the top of the rock. And it's true. The Humvee is gone. Nothing but a pile of charred metal remains. Dunbar is gone. Elijah is gone. I never did get to compliment Dunbar about his kindness.

"Let's go." I say. There's no time for grieving. I'm tired. My legs are weak. I don't want to think anymore. It hurts. Everything hurts.

I turn the corner, but pause. My eyes are full of pain. I pull my hand up to my ear, and press the button.

"Good effect on target, hostiles have been pacified." I spit on the word pacified. "Two KIA, Private Dunbar and Private Elijah. How copy, over."

"Papa Bear reads you, we're glad to see you safe, over."

"Foxtrot is proceeding to the target, it's a hovercraft that appears to be intact, over." I lean down and pick up my rifle off the muck strenuously.

"Copy that. Papa Bear, out."

I hoist my gun up to my chest. Corporal White follows me as I step past the charred remains of Foxtrot and into the destroyed brush. Some fires have caught onto the trees in various places. I step over logs and blackened bushes as we push onwards.

I didn't get to know Elijah or Dunbar very well. I assume that they were good people, so that makes my chest a little heavier as I move forwards. Maybe Dunbar could've been a singer or musician. I can see Elijah as a professional sports player, standing tall on a football field triumphantly. We'd have a good laugh about it all, me and him. We'd meet up at some bar somewhere in Boston, after this is all over. We'd talk about the future, about how his career was just taking off and how I'd started my career as a writer or something. Dunbar would show up, just getting off the bus. He wouldn't drink any alcohol as he'd still be too young. Elijah might've teased him a bit about that. But in the end, we'd laugh at the time he almost died on the edge of some nameless town that could've been anywhere. It could've been anyone. And we'd laugh because it could've turned out much, much differently.

But it did, and none of that ever happened.

And when I look down at my chest pocket, I see Dunbar's iPod. What a kid.

* * *

"IF! IF! We've been hit, hit bad. Are you okay?"

It's the assistant from earlier. She's shaky, standing in the doorway with her arms propping her up against the wall. The ship had received a direct hit from a weapon the likes of which IF had never seen.

IF thought it must've been artillery, but artillery back home could never have been dreamed to have such a large blast radius. She was rattled, hair frizzy and a little upset in the stomach. Nepgear lost connection in an instant, and they had lost connection to the drone as well.

"Commander, w-what do we do? They're gonna finish us!"

IF looked up at her face. It was the first time, the very first time she'd ever seen the same fear as the enemy in one of her own soldiers. It was jarring, mind boggling and most importantly, humiliating. This would not stand with her.

But IF knew better than to remain in place. They had her ship zeroed in, and another round would certainly finish off the vessel, despite being one of the most advanced ships in Planeptune's arsenal.

"We're getting out of here, open up a portal and get us out-" IF slammed her fist on the table. "Do it now!"

"Y-Yes Commander!" The assistant bolted out the doorway and to the control room. But halfway through the door, she turned back, remembering something important. "But… you know that if we go in this state, it'll take too long to close off the portal. T-The dimensional rift accessor was damaged, it could be fatally unstable-"

"I don't care, let's just go. Get Purple Heart to deploy the military across Planeptune as per the contingency plan, it's just not safe here!"

The girl nodded, this time leaving for good.

This was not going to be good for her rank… this is the second time in three weeks she screwed up. Damn it.

* * *

Corporal White froze in place. I stopped as well, almost 50 meters from the alien craft. The winter air was mixed with that of the devastation, smelling faintly like charcoal. My muscles were tense, and my eyes were on alert.

I could hear the rumble of engines humming, accelerating higher and higher in pitch. It was taking off. It was taking off!

"White, let's get back, now!" I ordered, my voice becoming hoarse.

We ducked down behind some fallen trees, the bark still bearing the marks of the explosion.

Six engines on the bottom of the vehicle roared to life, spewing blue flames which kicked up dust and mud into the air around it. The wind picked up as the machine's hulk in form began to rise.

I raised my hand to my ear. "Papa Bear, be advised, the enemy hovercraft is taking off! They're flying away, over!"

"We hear you, Foxtrot. F-35s are on CAP twenty clicks out, they're engaging now. Recommend you cover your ears, over."

What?

The ship was gaining altitude, rising above the trees and it had just begun to tilt away and into the the sky when two missiles streaked in it's direction. They impacted with a loud explosion, the fire illuminating the whole earth. The sound was deafeningly loud.

The craft didn't seem to take any damage, however. It kept on rising in altitude until the sky opened up in front of it. Like a massive black hole, it enveloped the whole thing, stretching from the sky, all the way down to the earth. It sounds like mush being spread around as if the whole portal were made of jello. Nothing was left behind.

The roar of the multirole fighter jets grew louder until it turned to mush, both jets smashing into the portal- gone.

"Papa Bear-"

"Foxtrot, hold position. A Chinhook has been dispatched to resupply you, lieutenant. The plan has changed, and you can assume what's happening next. Papa Bear, out."

I let go of the button, my arm collapsing to my side. I set my ass down on the log in front of me, taking in the devastated scenery. It smelled of winter, despite the beating it has received.

It almost seemed natural, the shouldering flames and ruined wilderness. It's almost as if this is what we've been all this time- destroying ourselves with our own might we didn't realize that it was permanent. But it's permanent.

These scars will last forever on the earth. I wonder if the same can be said for Gamindustri, too.

* * *

 **I'm writing this on the new mobile app, so please excuse the odd scene breaks or any spelling mistakes.**


	14. Chapter 13

Gamindustri looks very pretty this time of year.

The sun shines boldly directly above the countryside somewhere the far east of Planeptune, near the Lastation border. Snowcapped mountains stand tall to the east, and to the west lies a sea of forests, farmland and hills. All of which containing dungeons, home to all types of monsters: unfathomable to the human mind.

In Gamindustri, some things just aren't able to be understood by the people of Earth. Monsters, their reproduction and their deaths are mysteries that may never truly be solved. But some things, such as the portals that brought IF's ship back to the land of the CPUs, are simply new. A challenge for the scientific community, sure, but not something that will forever remain unknown. Time is all that stands in the way of both human advancement and it's destruction by forces unknown.

That information would've changed the fate of the two F-35 fighter pilots that entered the new world for the first time. They had no idea that the gateway was not exactly perfect and they had no experience crossing to completely new dimensions- unlike the CPUs. They came unwillingly to an extent, but the fact of the matter remains. They were there, and despite the wishes of those two men and the people on both sides of the portal, they were there to stay.

* * *

It came as a shock.

A sudden shudder, the feeling of acceleration and a taste of mint. Mint! Captain Bennings found this as peculiar. It wasn't a good feeling. And he also hated mint.

When he got to the other side, he came to the realization that things just weren't going to turn out all that great. The reason being was that there was no portal behind him. He emerged along a coastline, flying inland at a breakneck speeds. It was just him and a wide open expanse of green. Green trees, green fields and green forests lush with life. A pleasant green, the green of a fertile spring forest. The green of a land where strife isn't commonplace, where love takes root and sprouts into a sturdy oak, never faltering beneath the wind.

The sky was the clearest one he had ever seen, and he had seen many. It was a generously wide expanse, uninterrupted by terraforming. The exception to that was a remote town or two scattered below along with a large city to the west.

This place was alien to the Captain. Never before had he felt so alone, deprived and jealous.

But he had a mission to do. He had to send his enemy straight to hell- using the finest piece of technology known to man. It was an honor to fly the F-35, and he made certain that he would live up to the expectations given to it by his people.

Here, in this new world, the only one of those people was his wingman, who made it clear to Bennings that he just wanted to go home and curl up around the fireplace with his wife. Bennings had no family left to go home to, so he made it clear to his wingman that he just wanted to make the enemy suffer.

"Chevy 1-2, Chevy 1-1, rejoin formation." Bennings spoke into his helmet with determination. He held the flight stick steadily, hardened by years of combat experience. His radar indicated that there was an unknown contact some 40 kilometers in front of him, and using his eyes he could make out a lake far in it's direction. He guessed that it was the target he was looking for, and according to his compass, it was heading northwest rapidly. He wouldn't let it escape.

"Two, tally bandit one o'clock." He told his wingman of the enemy aircraft's location before arming an AIM-120 AMRAAM missile. This distance is still a little too far for his missile to engage effectively, and since his target was moving away from him the missile would have to cover more space before impacting. That wasn't going to help the Captain, so he initiated his afterburner to get within range.

With his wingman off to his left, they flew past the lake in minutes. The Captain was surprised that the hovercraft could go so fast in such a damaged state, as they had sped past mach one already and had yet to catch up with the enemy.

Once within range of firing, a sudden voice penetrated the lonely silence. It was his wingman, and he spoke hectically. "One, missile launch seven o'clock low! I'm engaged defensive!" What?

Bennings jerked his neck around the rear of his seat as a line of sweat dripped from his forehead. He could see the missile speeding towards his wingman but there was nothing that he could do. He spotted two jets racing behind them, intercepting their course.

"I'm evading, hold on." Captain Bennings thrust his joystick back, pulling his aircraft into a high G turn to his right. He felt his body get crushed by the force of the maneuver.

His wingman deployed a set of flares as he pulled up and then to his left into a roll to dodge the missile. The projectile shot past him and plunged deeper into the sky- caught by the flares. But the enemy was not about to give up just yet.

The Captain concluded his turn as his opponents passed him, going so close that he could see the underbelly of the enemy airplanes and receive full view of their armament. They were loaded to bear with enough ammunition to outlast the F-35s if it came to a slugfest, and that was one of the major disadvantages of his aircraft. Making a split second decision, Bennings was determined to fight on his own terms.

"Chevy 1-2, we're disengaging. Go to route southeast for ten mikes, then join up." The Captain eased out his airplane it it's direction and activated his afterburner again. He was concerned that the enemy could meet their relatively low flight speed and press the attack. He didn't know anything about the enemy aircraft so all possibilities existed.

"Two, roger." His wingman replied, following orders. Bennings was displeased that he would have to diverge from his target. He may never get to it again, which would also mean that he failed. He grit his teeth, reminding himself that this was necessary to fight another day.

"Captain, wouldn't this take us above that city? They could have SAMs set up along the perimeter."

"We'll be fine. You're not flying the F-15 anymore, Lieutenant." Reminded of incoming danger, the Captain looked behind him to search for bandits. He saw the two warplanes speeding towards his flight, a trail of smoke following them. The Captain was not worried in the slightest, however, as they struggled to match the F-35's altitude. Since he was cruising above 30,000 feet, the air was getting thin, making it difficult for what he believed to be outdated jets to keep up with him.

The Captain continued to speak. "They shouldn't be able to touch us around there. I'd also expect them not to anticipate any visitors, so we should be good."

"Wilco."

* * *

The flash of a pair of alien jets shook Planeptune to it's core. They whizzed above the tips of the tallest skyscrapers and weaseled through the urban jungle with ease, startling citizens and disrupting traffic. People stood in awe, mouths gaping towards the hostile sky, for this marked the first time in recorded history that an alien flew unopposed over the capital.

From the Basilicom's balcony, Nepgear could see chaos in the streets. Her hair waved in the wind ever so gently as her fists tightened. She couldn't bear to see her people in such misery.

Her sister was gone, sent on an emergency meeting with the leaders from the other nations to negotiate a cease-fire among themselves, and left the CPU candidate in charge alongside Histoire, who was too preoccupied by her duties to witness the spectacle.

The pair of fast-movers zipped past the pinnacle of Planeptune, sweeping Nepgear off her feet in an avalanche of wind. She stumbled over to the railing, gasping. Never in her wildest dreams did she think that her home would be subject to those savages from Earth. Her humiliation and anger rose to her chest, and from there to her head.

Since one else could, she would have to do something.

* * *

"Uhh, Captain, I got nothing on visual or radar."

"Keep your eyes peeled, I'm heading up to try and spot them." Captain Bennings replied, and gently tugged on the stick. He rose above the rooftops, flying higher and higher into the sky.

Looking back at where he had come from, he spotted his enemies.

"Chevy one, tally bandits 12 o'clock." They were getting too close. Luckily, they were close enough to kill with his AMRAAMs. He armed his medium-range missiles and looked at his first target.

Just by using his eyes, his missile locked on. He pressed his launch button and sent a missile on its way. It roared, spiraling over the top of the city and collided with the first bandit. "Chevy one, splash one bandit." The plane's surface erupted with flame, instantly killing the pilot. The charred corpse of the the enemy sank closer and closer to the ground, smashing right into a building. Glass and metal was thrown haphazardly across the street, showering pedestrians.

He pulled up again, and rose up even higher. He wanted to get a good amount of room to maneuver when things got hot. There was only one jet remaining, but he had learned to never underestimate an enemy, no matter the situation.

The hostile let loose a missile from below, and the Captain pumped flares and chaff into the sky. He still didn't know if they were targeting him using a radar lock or with heat seeking missiles. When his wingman dodged the missile earlier it could've just been dumb luck, and Bennings wasn't about to let his guard down.

He tore through the sky in a loop, trying to get behind his opponent. Unfortunately for him, the enemy had anticipated this move and dove down, into the city. The man didn't want to cause any more collateral damage, despite his hatred for the enemy, and simply matched speeds above the alien, ready to pounce when a mistake was made.

Suddenly, his wingman blasted through the radio. "Guns, guns from two!"

He didn't notice his partner swoop in from behind at the speed of sound, stealing his kill. The cannon let out a spray of death, colliding with the the aircraft with a devastating set of explosions. Stray bullets slapped the street and walls, and the enemy aircraft spiraled to it's death. It hit the ground, crashing into cars and slid across the road with a terrifying roar. Civilians ducked and ran for their lives, most of them evading the carnage that ensued.

"Bandit destroyed!" He exclaimed, and rose back into the air. The planes leveled out, the pilots slowly returning to their senses.

"Good job, lieutenant. We should make our way back now…" The Captain trailed off, deep in thought. "How the hell are we gonna RTB this time?"

"Hell if I know. I recommend peeling outta this hellhole and heading back the our origin point, maybe that portal will still be there."

They entered a holding position around a large spire in the center of the city, flying at the height of the rooftops. They assumed it was safe here, and the adrenaline from before had just begun to wear off.

"Uhh… I guess so. We'll go with that. File up behind me, we're gonna do one last pass here."

"Wilco."

* * *

Nepgear, now identified as Purple Sister, launched herself off the balcony and into the sky. Arms spread out wide, she caught herself just before she hit the curvature of the Basilicom and rocketed out into the open.

With her glowing saber in her hands, she pushed herself towards the leading alien.

"HYAAAH!" She screamed with balled up spite, slashing hard. The wing of the aircraft was cleaved clean off with a devastating clang, and the sound of engines faded off into the distance as it spiraled out of control and towards the ground. It slammed into a fountain, sending shockwaves through the air along with a massive fireball.

Her next target sped past her, thrusting her hair out to the wind. She steadied herself this time, and raised her weapon. The alien was just passing over the rooftops when she let her anger loose in the form of a lethal burst of light. Mercilessly, her revenge decimated her target, sending bits and pieces of it across the city. Chunks slammed into the roofs of cars, and others smashed through windows.

The sun had begun to ease itself towards the horizon as Nepgear lowered her weapon. She breathed heavily.

Her palms were covered in nervous sweat, and she stared at her fingers as she eased herself to the ground. It was over. They were gone. Her people were safe. She saved Planeptune!

Nepgear looked up to see the smoldering carcass of the first vessel she killed. It was missing it's wing and smoking from the engine, propped up on the banks of a canal. The cockpit was smeared with blood, cracking as a shaky hand touched its surface.

The pilot was still alive.

The CPU Candidate stepped forward with trepidation, and hoisted herself onto the nose of the aircraft. Her added weight put strain on the nose, causing it to creak. The Goddess returned her saber to her inventory with ease, and reached her arms forward. With a mighty tug, she pulled the crumbling barrier away, and dumped it into the water with a splash.

A small crowd began to gather around their CPU Candidate as she examined her foe.

It was human.

A man.

It wore an alien flight suit. On it's head was an alien helmet.

Her hand were shaking. She didn't even notice how shaky she was. This was too much for her. She didn't know what to do. She was scared. Her people were curious, angry and afraid.

The enemy looked up into her eyes. The hostile was defeated. The alien was accepting death.

The human was weak. The man was wounded. The person was scared.

And she was a Goddess, and the target was not one of her people.

What would her sister have done?

* * *

 **Reviews?**


	15. The Beginning

Hard fought relaxation. But it's not exactly relaxation in the sense that I'm relaxed. The thing is, my mind can't stop churning, my stomach just keeps swelling hot with anxiety. It's what's next that scares me to the point of death.

I sit atop a rotting log in the middle of the forest. Corporal White, my last living friend- and that's stretching it- sits next to me. He's checking his phone, browsing anime memes or something freely, without the judgement of Elijah. My heart plummets when I think about him, so I try not to, silently shaking my head.

We're sitting in the middle of a shallow crater where the bombs hit just a few minutes ago. It's a clearing full of stumps, dirt and snow, and I arch my neck back to take in the grey sky. It's gotten cloudy, maybe we'll get snowfall soon.

My chest is jittery, full of butterflies that just won't stop fluttering all over the damn place. My gloves are dirty, but I wipe my face anyways. My sweat is smeared around my face, now mixed with the dirt. It's disgusting. I feel disgusting.

In the distance I can hear the Chinook helicopter slapping the air around, adhering to a steady beat, gradually getting louder and louder as it gets close.

I breath in the cool winter air, still amused by its mixture with the scent of burning. To me it feels ironic. It all feels ironic, and when I get the urge to pull Dunbar's iPod out of my pocket a wave of disappointment swells up inside me. I didn't manage to save the kid, damn it. My grip tightens around the device, but it's not out of anger. It's shallow grip, undetermined and easily undermined.

The helicopter arrives in no time at all, the past, present and future all meshing together to me. A handful of soldiers pour out of the rear of the vehicle, carrying metal boxes of gear and other supplies and setting them upon the dirt. Behind them, the jet black portal looms high over our heads, presenting a very ominous backdrop for the scene. My mind wanders to think about what lies behind it as I squint from the helicopter's wind.

The rotors of the giant machine slow down, beating to a dull thump, wind gradually easing to the point where I can keep my eyes completely open again, but I don't because they sting.

A pair of men hobble out of the helicopter, carrying a quadcopter drone. One man holds it up with both hands, and the other holds a fat tablet. They settle down to my right, and the men prepare to take off. With a final thumbs up, the reconnaissance drone spins up and away, straight for the portal.

Slowly but surely, a man wearing a digicam cap upon his head steps out of the helicopter. The bars on his shoulder tell me that this guy means business. A captain examines his surroundings for a moment, taking in the unique environment. He is unnerved by the sight of the portal, but tries not to show it. Satisfied, he marches towards me with a purpose.

I jump to my feet along with the Corporal. I tuck the iPod back into my chest pocket and suddenly throw my hand up to a salute along with my team member. The Captain salutes back, stopping right in front of me. After a drawn out sigh, he begins to speak.

"Lieutenant Kiowa. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, I've been briefed on your mission and frankly, I find that you're going to need all the dumb luck you can get."

I drop the salute as the Captain does.

He clears his throat. "Well, we've got a ton of stuff here to begin to poke at that highway to hell over there," he looks back at the portal. "We just want to make sure it's safe for you to go through. I'd feel a helluva lot better if we'd just send in the SEALs, but there's a lot of red tape screwing everything up between us and anyone _good_." He looks down at his feet with hands on his hips, then faces me again, this time with a look of urgency and skepticism. "I have no fucking idea what you can get done, but just make them pay, will'ya?"

I nod. "I understand, sir." I don't have a single idea on what I can do either.

I don't know their capabilities, I don't know what their society is like, I don't even know if I can hurt them over there! Simply put, fighting is out of the question. I'd get ripped apart in an instant. Back in training, they drilled the fact that the key to winning the war is always through the hearts and minds of the enemy. Shattered morale is worth more a hard-fought battle. But then again, no plan survives first contact. I can't really put anything together right now without knowing. As it is, knowing is half the battle.

"Well kid, best of luck to you. All the stuff you could ever need is right here." He gestures at some of the boxes halfheartedly. "You're leaving in an hour, expect the unexpected." The Captain peers at Corporal White with narrow eyes. "You, kid, with me." The Captain starts walking away, ushering my team member to follow him. The Captain stands on the ramp of the empty helicopter impatiently, and the engine begins to rumble. As he steps forward, White looks back at me. He's got a nervous glint in his eye, but knowing him, he wouldn't admit that to my face without a fight. I gently nod, my expression solemn. I can tell he's concerned for me, a little afraid of what is to come, and even jealous. A ton of people would love the chance to visit a whole other world, even if the chance of death upon entry is almost 100%.

After another duo of soldiers ferry crates out of the helicopter, White steps in, his boots trailing mud and snow onto the metal ramp. This is goodbye, huh. I don't really know how to feel anymore. It's not as if there's anything out there to tell me how to feel. It's as though I should be feeling a sense of longing or regret and yet I don't. Maybe I'm getting numb. I certainly hope not.

And just like that, in a matter of mere seconds, the hulking beast thrusts itself off the ground, stirring up the brush and the dirt. A minute passes and the silence is eerie with only the footsteps of men breaking the fading echo of the helicopter. Despite being amongst some of the finest soldiers on earth, I stand alone.

 _Alone._

I stifle back tears.

 _I've got a long trip ahead of me._

I stretch my arms out wide, letting go of a shudder full of pain.

 _I'd better start packing._

My arms come back to my sides, limp.

 _Right?_

* * *

"Owen…"

What? Who the fuck?

"I thought you would be getting hungry in here, so I brought you something to eat."

My eyes open painfully, light blurring my vision. I'm on a couch in a long, white room. The ground is layered in a fuzzy, spotlessly white rug. To my left there's a television, and to my right, over the back of the couch, is a wall made completely of glass. Beyond it lies a glimmering skyline of a city I've never seen.

A girl stands rigid to my left. She has lavender hair and wears a skirt and some sort of button-up top. I notice that white and purple is a very common trend on her. With wide eyes, I spot the tray in her arms. Pancakes and some orange juice. She sets it down upon the blanket on top of me. My heart is racing, and my arms are tight.

"Wh- Who are you?" I stutter, eyes darting to examine my surroundings. "Where the _hell_ am I?" I say through my teeth, bitter. My hands tightly grip the blanket draped over my body.

"Huh? You're at the Basilicom, my home. I'm Nepgear, the CPU Candidate of Planeptune." She beams, stepping back gently.

"What?" I say, confused. "No, no just tell me where I am. You gotta tell me where the hell I am." I exclaim, getting desperate. The orange juice almost spills as I try to sit up, but when I do, my back aches like mad.

"Oh! Please don't move like that yet, you're still hurt!" What? I suddenly notice the tightness around my waist. I pull the blanket up so I can see under, and then I see the bandages. Firm white bandages have been thrown up around my whole chest as if the doctor who put it on me doesn't know how to use them. I'm disgusted at the sight.

"What?!" I shout, pulling the blanket back down instantly.

"I'm really sorry!" She does a little half-bow. "Sis went a little too hard on you back at the hospital. I tried to get her to stop, but I couldn't! I'm so, so sorry!" She leans closer to me, face getting uncomfortably close. It's not actually that close, but I still don't like it. "I used a lot of healing items on you, so you're going to be just fine! I honestly didn't know that someone of your status could handle being revived so many times. It's kinda funny actually…" She steps back, hand behind her head. "Oh goodness, I'm sorry! I don't mean to ramble!"

What the fuck is her problem? This is so fucking messed up. Revives? Healing? Planeptune? My head spins, face scrunching up into a frown. I'll pretend that never happened. But now I'm starting to remember everything. I got beat up bad at the hospital, and that _bitch_ Purple _Heart_ decided to make me her toy or something. What kind of name is "Heart" anyways? It's stupid and phony. Oh, that reminds me. That _bitch_ IF got me into this whole mess.

It wasn't like I should've trusted her in the first place or anything. I never did, really. Nate's such an asshole, making me think that she liked me. Of course she doesn't! Of course she hates each and every last one of us. I knew she was working with that Purple CPU woman, I just didn't let myself believe it. I'm not paranoid. I swear. I really do. I can't believe I let them fool me like that.

Never again. I'll never let anyone trick me again.

Nate, I'm sorry. I thought I could trust you. You're dead now, though. And I'm stuck in some shithole surrounded by enemies. Oh man. Oh, oh man.

I look away from the Nepgear CPU and towards the food given to me. I bet it's poisoned, or maybe if I'm lucky, laced with laxatives. Are they gonna try and fatten me up? Are they gonna parade me around town saying how weak I am? I'm just some fucking trophy, now am I? Jeez. I need a cigarette.

"Are you okay, Owen?" I look back at the girl. She looks concerned, but that can't be.

"I'm _ecstatic._ Thanks for asking." I say, not even trying to sound convincing. "I'm just a little… shocked, that's all."

First chance I get I'm getting out of here. Full sprint. Not looking back. Fuck this place.

"That makes sense. I'd be scared too if I were in your situation." _No shit, Sherlock._ "But please make yourself at home. None of us want to hurt you, I mean it." She nods, stepping towards a doorway somewhere to the left of the television. She pauses, facing me again. "I… I wanted to tell you later about this, but I think I should tell you now."

 _Oh great. The orange juice is actually some magical avocado tea from England? Oh, and what's that? It's also alive and going to kill me instantly? Well, who wouldda thought!_

She seems a little nervous. "Sis wanted you to be ready for an event when she gets back. She's hosting a parade in honor of your capture. There's going to be a ferris wheel, some rides and she's letting me host our next-gen console exhibit! I think it's going to be fun! What about you?"

 _You're kidding me._ I stare into the orange juice blankly.

"I-I'm sorry… I'll-I'll just leave you alone now…" She slowly steps back into her room quietly before shutting the door behind her.

Great. This is totally great. I sigh sadly, letting it draw out loosely and pathetically. This parade will be nothing but a showcase of all the failures of humanity- mostly mine. Do they know that this is humiliating for me? Are they emotionless? Are they even human?

No. There's no way that they're human.

Well, I am a human. And I don't plan on making it to that event anytime soon. I might as well get a move on.

But I'm not getting anywhere on an empty stomach, so I pick up the glass of orange juice and bring it up to my nose. Taking a deep whiff, I recoil and spill a little bit across the blanket. It's not orange juice, that's for certain. Smells a little like candy, which makes me nauseous.

I set the drink back on the tray, and with two hands I lift the platter up and onto the rug beside me. I'm not eating that. I bet none of it is edible.

After the incursion into the food situation, I push the blanket off of my body, and a chill runs down my body. I'm stark naked, bandages tightly wrapping around both my groin and chest. I ignore the sudden cold and scour the ground for my clothes, and that's when I spot them atop a wooden table out in front of me.

Slowly and painfully, I hoist myself off the couch. My joints ache, but they don't hurt as much as I thought they would. My feet love the feeling of the carpet, it's fluffy and soft texture making it fit for a goddess. I make my way over to the table, noticing a kitchen off to my left separated from the table by a countertop. This is a very modern setting, with the white theme presenting itself nicely with the wall made of windows. The light from the windows illuminate the room brightly, making the scene appear peaceful and welcoming. Hoping that noone sees me changing, I use my fingernails to try and tear off some of the bandages around my chest so I can slide my shirt and jeans on normally.

It hurts to peel them off though, with hair gets ripped from my chest as I try. So I stop trying and instead just throw on my clothes. The bandages are going to restrict my movement to an extent, which is definitely going to be annoying. But that doesn't matter. I can deal with a little bit of annoyances.

Now that I'm set and ready to go, I turn my attention to a door beside the television. It seems like the right door to leave, but I'm not certain. I don't want to end my escape attempt prematurely, so I don't get close to it.

But then the adrenaline from my mission-oriented tasks wear off, and my mind starts to clear up. Do I really want to just run off right away? Would that really be the best option right now?

I sit down onto one of the chairs, my chest growling.

I won't get far if I try to escape. Maybe that's why they aren't trying to keep me in a jail cell or anything. I just can't get away. The thought sinks in, meshing with all my other emotions.

I've lost. No, we've lost. I need to accept that.

No, no I won't.

I won't break. They can go wild- torture me, humiliate me, put me on display, force me to eat their horrible food, whatever.

My chance is coming. I know it. I just need to wait.

I can wait.

* * *

Nepgear, the CPU candidate of Planeptune, lies on her bed, or rather her sister's bunk.

On her face there is nothing. At least, that's what she wants to put on display.

She wants to hide it, but she's scared. She's worried. And she's concerned. But most of all, she feels longing.

It's a strange longing to her. She wants her sister back. But her sister is still here. At least, she's still around. But, to her, she's gone.

Neptune. She says the word, letting it's syllables roll off her tongue and into the universe. It's her own universe. Her sister's universe, too. But to her, it doesn't feel like it's her sister's universe anymore. It's Purple Heart's universe.

It confuses her like it has ever since she those jets flew over her home. Earlier today, a seed of doubt planted in her head bloomed into a tall oak. Is this woman, Purple Heart, really her sister? On the outside, she'd have to say yes. It was the same person, the same skin, bones and heart. But something wasn't her. It was her personality.

Was it selfish of her to want the old Neptune back? Probably. If Purple Heart wanted it to be that way, then sure, she'd let her stay the way she wants to be. Nepgear kept telling herself that people do change. But this was too much of a change. No longer was her sister the bubbly little pudding-lover like she used to be. That was frightening to Histoire. And that's what scared her, too.

She wanted to do something, more than she had ever wanted to do in her life. She wasn't going to change her sister or anything, no. But was there a way? There had to be a way.

A computer on Neptune's desk started to sound off with a ring, startling Nepgear. She sat up, legs dangling off the bunk. The Skynep ringtone, IF was calling. Nepgear dragged herself off her lousy ass and slid onto the ground, arms easing herself to her feet. Slowly, she edged closer and closer to the computer before answering the call.

IF was in her room on her ship. Nepgear's friend looks rather ruffled up, with her hair frizzy and clothes disorganized.

"Nepgear! I'm glad you picked up, finally. I've been trying to reach you for hours! Are you okay, Gear?"

Nepgear pulled out a chair and slipped down into it. "Yeah, I'm doing okay." That was a lie. Too many things were swirling through her mind right now. "How are you, IF?"

"I'm doing great, actually. Oh man, Nepgear! Did you hear? They found Compa!" IF exclaimed.

"Really?" Nepgear transitioned to a more relieved sense, sighing. "I'm so glad. I thought she was a goner for a while. Who found her?"

"A recon team in the north of the New Hampshire state over there, she was in some sort of prisoner of war camp along with tons of other soldiers! You'd think that they'd just kill them and get it over with."

"Why do you think they do that?"

"I dunno." IF looked away from the screen. She wanted to say that they might just be trying to keep them prisoner because it was humane according to them, but she knew how Nepgear thought of them. "I haven't gotten a chance to talk to Compa again, but I can't wait for her to get back." The commander took a deep breath, a wave of static running through the connection. "Hey Gear, I've actually got a request for you."

"Huh?" Nepgear was surprised. There wasn't much that she could do, but she did want to help her friend with whatever she needed. "Sure IF, what do you want?"

IF was uncomfortable, shifting in her seat as she continued to speak. "Do you… do you think you could exempt Compa from combat? She's seen a lot out there, and she still needs to finish her nursing education. So-"

"IF, I don't think I could do that." Nepgear looked down, ashamed. "I want to, but I don't know if it would be okay with sis." She had the power to dismiss people from service, but would Purple Heart be okay with it?

"Purple Heart? Nepgear…" A wave of disappointment swept through IF. But the girl wasn't about to give up just like that. "Gear! You should listen to yourself, not your sister! You don't always have to rely on her, make decisions of your own! Live your life, Nepgear."

Nepgear thought about it for a bit. IF was right about that. She didn't need the CPU's permission to make decisions like this. But would it be okay? Probably.

"Nepgear, please help Compa. She might not be so lucky next time." IF pleaded.

Nepgear cracked, waving her arms out in front of her. "Oh, okay. You're right, IF. I do need to believe in myself more. I'll- I'll get started right away."

If sighed a sigh of relief. She really did care for Compa, and Nepgear's response was music to her ears. IF thought to herself, maybe she'd try and get some R&R for a while back home. She'd seen a ton of combat, so it would be good to have a break here and there. She needed it, especially after everything she'd seen and done.

"Thanks a ton, Nepgear."

"It… It was nothing, IF. I want to help our friends as much as I can."

"Do what you feel is right from now on, okay Gear?"

"I'll... I'll do my best."

* * *

And that's that. I'm packed with enough gear to last a month out in North Korea.

At least, I have enough stuff to help me blend in with a foreign nation and live off the land for a week. A water straw for potable water, my rifle for protection along with the pistol I kept from that Bradley a long time ago. I still have it after all these days… thinking about it now makes me a little homesick.

I took a portable crank-charger for my electronics- most notable of which is a small radio that should be able to communicate with any drones that they send through. This thing is going to be my lifeline out there, so I better not lose it. I'm also bringing my phone and Dunbar's dinky little iPod. I don't want to just toss it out or anything, that feels wrong to me. This time, I got myself a little pair of earbuds to keep me company.

I even brought a tiny collapsible pot so I can boil water or cook, that can actually be really important out there.

I'm rather satisfied with all the crap I have, and it doesn't weigh that much either. Probably because I don't have much with me at all. But it's best to pack light, right? It all fits into a multicam backpack hanging around my shoulders. My rifle is slung over and onto my back as well, and my helmet has ben replaced with a black beanie, similar to the one that Peashy slid over my hair when I first saw her Goddess form.

But even with all the practical stuff I'm loaded with, I'm not just bringing _things_.

My experiences and training are stuffed into my brain. The training I've received is plugged into my whole body, programming my wits and reflexes. And I have the wisdom of my mother, who I have no doubt would be proud of me right now. Owen, too. I'll try to be as brave as he was, but I know I'm just going to break down into tears somewhere in the middle of the woods.

They sent me off on my own to that bigass portal on foot, and my feet dig through the snow and dirt and rocks and branches all mixed together. This is home. All of it. All the death, the misery, the happiness, the joy.

I'm optimistic about this.

But then again, what's there to be optimistic about?

The future?

The jet black gateway towers high above my head. When I reach my neck back all the way, the feeling of loneliness really enters my heart. It's strange. Four weeks ago I would be terrified at the sight of this, and going mad at how illogical this whole thing is. But now, I'm standing in front of the closest thing to an alien world and feeling fine.

I can almost see the other side from here. It looks just like home, back when things were green and when things were peaceful.

But then it changes. The scene changes to a snowy plain with rocks in the background. The sky on the other side is blue, and the snow doesn't look disturbed at all.

But then the scene changes once more, this time to a city. Dark streets are filled with black, black clouds, black corners and black tubes extending into the sky behind the city houses, a gas escaping from them and high into the sky.

I'm not surprised when the scene changes again. This time I see rolling green pastures, sheep-like creatures prowling the lush hills. The trees around me are lively and healthy, welcoming me forwards. Tempted and curious, I cautiously stick a gloved hand through the barrier and to the other side. It's much warmer there, and a gentle breeze tickles my exposed wrist. It's so nice there.

But the scene morphs again, surprising me and making me pull my hand back to me. This time I'm left in front of a farm. Plants with a mixture of healthy and dying leaves are standing tall in rows before me, bearing a purple vegetable from their stalks. The sun is setting here, and the golden glow of the sunset drapes across the plants as they sway from side to side in a gust of wind.

I shouldn't keep the future waiting any longer.

I take in one last breath of home. It smells cold, and my lungs are chilled to the bone.

My feet stomp through the crackling snow tentatively as I close my eyes gently.

For just a moment a wave of warmth seeps across my whole body, but then I can't feel anything at all.


	16. Fin

" _It's the end of the world as we know it…._ " Your eyes open softly, body drowsy and weak. " _And I feel fine…"_

You wonder who sung that as you sit up, carefully, on a mattress. When your vision stops spinning, you find yourself in a bombed out building. You lie on a plain mattress in the corner of the room, and across from you there is a massive hole in the wall. The ground used to be made of wood, but now it's covered in a thin layer of dust, rocks and debris.

Another person is in the room with you, and he sits in a chair by the hole. He stares out the window, humming _it's the end of the world_ as he slides bullets into a 9mm pistol magazine one by one. _Click. Click. Click._ The picture is quite startling to you, but it doesn't take long for you to recover.

The light from the hole is faint, and the urban world outside is covered by clouds. Tracer anti-aircraft fire can be seen flying into the sky, and the sounds of combat echo in your ears.

The figure stops filling the magazine. He swivels around on his chair, facing you. He wears a pair of dirty blue jeans and a black jacket, and on his face he has a pair of thin-rimmed glasses. He gives you a hopeless smile, eyes full of sorrow.

"Hey." He says weakly, looking down at his feet. He's ashamed of something.

You say hey in response, and as you do you focus out the window, at the war-torn city.

"I'm glad you made it." He says, more confident. "I don't know if I could live with myself if you didn't." He stated that bluntly, choking back tears.

You utter a word of thanks for his actions, but you still have lots of questions. Mostly, you wonder why he's acting that way.

The guy sighs, running a hand through his shaggy black hair. "Welcome to Boston. I wish you were here when we still had electricity, the view of the Charles river is amazing at night."

A soft yet grim smile creeps onto your lips in agreement. But then you wonder how you got here. Boston?

You remember yourself touring the city of Ottawa with your family. It was a fun trip, but then they came from the sky. Dozens upon dozens of ships materialized out of nowhere, annihilating whole city blocks with incredible firepower. You ran as fast as you could, shaken. You lost your family.

You also see yourself in Shanghai. Taking the bus to a corner store with your favorite shoes. They were rather expensive, so you always took good care of them. But then those blue monsters popped the wheels, causing the bus to collapse onto it's side. Your legs were trapped below bodies of other passengers, and you had to pull yourself onto the street through an emergency exit.

But then the sight of the Big Ben flooded your memory. You were on a trip to London, but you don't remember why exactly. When it fell down by the pounding of guns, you ran. You heard the wailing of police sirens rushing to the monument, but you didn't stick around to find out what happened. You saw something that day that terrified you to your core. A giant whale cast it's shadow down the city street, and when you looked up you saw it. You froze for a moment, against your better judgement. And then you were gone.

And now you're here, in Boston.

"I can tell you've got a long story to tell. Everyone has a different story. Everyone in the whole world was affected by this, even if you don't really comprehend it just yet." He looks you in the eye. "I'd be willing to hear it, just saying. Your story, I mean. I'd actually like that being honest."

He shifts in his seat. "You see, I'm actually an author. At least, that's what I am now. Before this I was just like you, a student, a child, still fairly naive. I had ambition, and I bet you do too." He stands up, slowly as to not startle you. He walks over to a notebook on the ground. It's faded by days of use, it's pages full of notes and marks. "I've been trying to get this down. All of it. _History is written by the victors. And when they win, I don't want our history to be forgotten_."

"Thing is," He faces you again, kneeling down and holding the book out. "I don't really know how to make it. But I've been thinking of a story. Here." He tosses the old thing into your lap. You hold it with both hands, admiring it's rough texture. The cover is stained with blood.

"You gotta tell me." He holds a face of uncertainty. "What's your story? What happened to you?" You raise an eyebrow. "Ehh… okay. You get what I mean. I just want to make sure I got everything down pat, down right. Those people out there, out in ten years or so, they deserve to know everyone's story."

"Jot down notes. I donno. Say anything!" He sighs. "Anything really. In all honesty, I can tell how it's a dumb request. Think of it as payment."

 _Payment?_

"I saved you. And you got an awesome story to tell, right?"

You're not so sure about that. You open the book, flipping through all the pages quickly. You can tell a lot of work has been put into this.

"Hey." You look up. "I'm heading out for supplies. Don't worry, I'll be back. If I don't get back in time, slide the thing under your mattress. Make sure no one can find it if you leave here, make sure it doesn't get lost."

You agree verbally, finishing with a nod.

"Alright." He claps his hands, satisfied. "And for the record, I'm sorry for whatever you've been through. I know it's been hard out there."

He heads for the hole, throwing a sack over his shoulders.

The author smiles, turning his head in your direction, but still faces the hole.

"Don't you dare read ahead! I mean, there's tons of foreshadowing already… but still!" He smirks.

And with that final instruction, the author leaps out the window.

Alone at last, you sigh. What a day. What a life. You're happy you're alone to an extent, but you wish that you had your family around to be with. You mind lingers on that thought for a while, but you shake your head hastily. There's a time and place for everything. At least, that's what your parents told you.

Some things just have to wait.

You flip open the book with a dull-pointed pencil in hand, flipping to an empty page.

Huh? It's not empty. At the heading, it reads:

 **Part two: Hearts and Minds**

Ignoring it, you flip to the next page. You already know what you're going to write.

 _At least... you would've if a giant black portal hadn't emerged before you, outside the hole._

 _The rest of this is your life. Your story._

 _As you get sucked in by a vacuum for some stupid reason, you see green._

 _And you taste mint._


End file.
